


The Post-It Chronicles

by Finnspiration



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finnspiration/pseuds/Finnspiration
Summary: Post-It notes start appearing on Rhett's desk some mornings, in his own handwriting.  He has to decide whether to listen to them...or risk the consequences if he doesn't.25,000 words [complete]  (AU)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Though this story ostensibly features real people, and assumes lots of things about them, it is obviously a work of fiction, in fact, an AU. All the same, please don't show this to them. I explicitly do NOT give permission for anyone associated with Mythical Entertainment to use this work in any way, shape, or form.

**chapter one**

The note on Rhett's desk was ominous. Also, strangely, it appeared to be in his own handwriting. 

YOU BETTER NOT TELL HIM.

Rhett picked up the post-it note, stared at it hard, then looked around, and shoved it in his pocket. 

He didn't really expect to see a hidden camera. His well known interest in parallel worlds and the space time continuum would make it a good prank, though. Have someone fake his handwriting and leave a cryptic note he couldn't very well have left? A good joke. He'd be alert for any telltale signs that's what was happening.

Because the alternative? That he was blackout drunk (somehow at the office) and had left himself a note here not to talk to Link about what he'd decided to talk to Link about...well, that was unacceptable on so many levels.

#

"Rhett, have you seen my keys?"

"What? Again? Are you kidding me? How many times are you going to lose your keys this week, man?"

Link gave Rhett a hurt, hangdog look while patting at his pockets ineffectually, but he didn't bother trying to defend himself. There was that, at least.

Rhett had been on edge since that damned note. Nobody had given anything away yet, so it must be a long play. But it made him uneasy. Besides that, the family's schedule was packed, their filming schedule at Mythical was packed, and he felt like he was once again treading water, putting out fires, but not ever quite catching up. There'd be almost no time to work on their creative projects together. They always needed to have something in the pipeline. They at least needed to come up with ideas!

He'd been so sure about what he wanted to discuss with Link, after his solo vacation. He'd gone to the mountains, stayed in a converted fire tower, and been completely alone with his thoughts and nature and time. It had been long enough to decide it was really time to have that conversation that he and Link had never had. It had been long enough; they were both mature enough. There were things that needed to be said.

Little things like, oh, "You were my first love, even if I didn't know how to process that at the time."

Just little stuff like that. Real bro stuff.

But after getting his nerve up, and then seeing that post-it note, he'd put it off once again. As usual. And they'd been having more conflict than usual, mostly because of how tightly they'd had to schedule things to do everything they wanted to do and not have to skip their vacation alone times. 

They hadn't even talked about any of it. Of course. Usually, that waited for Ear Biscuits, but this conversation wouldn't be had there, no matter how dim the lighting.

He looked at Link, who was still giving him that slightly pathetic look, and sighed. "Have you checked the bathroom? Remember when you put them down in there?"

"I've checked the bathroom, Rhett. I've checked everywhere." His voice had gone all soft and sad, the way Rhett hated. 

He used to tell Link to stop being a baby. These days, he tended to try to make it better, or rag him about it till he got angry instead of sad. 

Rhett usually couldn't fix it. But he liked seeing Link better angry than he liked seeing him sad. It was good when there was some life in him, some fight in him, instead of that defeated attitude, or anxiety flaring once again to the surface. 

"You want me to drive you, right?" said Rhett, putting a hint of disdain in his voice, as if he thought that was a pretty stupid thing to want.

But Link didn't get angry. He wasn't even listening. "Do you think somebody hid my keys? Would anybody here actually do that to me? Like, on purpose?" He looked at Rhett, almost pleadingly.

"No, man," Rhett answered impatiently. "Maybe by accident, but your keys are marked."

He'd made sure of that. Link was a pretty organized and consistent person, but he had a poor short term memory, and sometimes, it was scary how quickly he could lose his keys.

"Then do you think—" Link worried his lip, looking tormented. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking like he was trying to hug himself tightly, or maybe protect himself from a body blow. "Do you think I'm losing more of my memory?"

Rhett's first instinct was to deny it, even to scoff. But they both knew Link had some memory challenges, and it scared each of them, knowing those issues could get worse someday.

Having multiple concussions as a young man (and probable, undiagnosed concussions when he was even younger), took their toll, however much he'd learned to compensate, and however smart he still was.

Sometimes Rhett liked to say that Link was the dumbest smart person he knew, even though that wasn't really true. It was just that Link didn't always remember things, didn't always connect things, and sometimes he would bluff his way through conversations if he got confused or lost his place in it. Not with Rhett—because neither of them bullshitted each other about stuff like that. If he got lost in a discussion with Rhett, he didn't try to fake it. He'd let Rhett laugh at him, if he wanted to, but he knew Rhett wouldn't leave him in the dark.

That was part of why this discussion had felt so important. To not keep leaving Link in the dark, or at least to bring it all out, air the dirty laundry, and maybe put it away smelling fresher. 

Rhett got up, sighing as his back gave him hell. He'd been feeling well lately, but it still had moments. And they hurt; they always hurt.

"C'mon, I'll drive you. Get some keys from Christie and pick up your car tomorrow. Maybe make another copy."

"But I still need my keys. They can't be lost, Rhett."

"We'll tell everybody to look for them. But you gotta get home, and so do I. I'm not helping you look."

Link looked up at him pleadingly, for one more long moment, gauging his commitment to calling off the hunt. Then he let his head drop forward in defeat. And he just sat there. 

"Link." Rhett's voice was all command, no question, and no patience. "Come on."  _ Don't be a baby. _

"I'm coming. I'm coming." Muttering to himself, he got up and followed Rhett out, as if he was going to the guillotine or something. Was it such a punishment, to have Rhett drive him home?

_ Maybe I should hold off on scolding him any more. I know he's not doing this on purpose. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

On the drive, Link nudged his arm. "Can we go there? If I bring some flowers home, maybe Christie won't be mad at me."

Rhett gave him a look of dislike. "No, I'm not helping you pick out flowers for your wife."

"You don't have to pick anything! Just wait in the car. Why are you making me beg? Do I have to fight with both of you? I'll be quick. Just look at your phone and you won't know I'm gone."

Rhett hissed irritation through his teeth, but he followed Link's directions and pulled into the parking lot of the florist. 

He hated this. Hated that Link had to placate both Rhett and Christie before he could be content, or happy, or have any peace. But it was really hard not to get frustrated with him sometimes. Such as when he made a person stop and let him get flowers for his wife.

And with what that person was thinking about confessing, as well.

Link wasn't long. He fumbled with his seatbelt as he got back in. The bouquet was medium-sized, not gigantic, at least, although he still managed to smack Rhett with the stems on the way to getting himself and the bouquet settled.

He looked brighter, his face happier. "That Donnie is so nice. He upgraded my bouquet for free! See these?" He poked at some of the flowers. Rhett didn't know their names. "He added them for nothing extra. Because I'm a loyal customer!"

"Yeah? How often are you getting flowers for your wife?"

"About once a month."

"That's not a loyal customer. Are you getting flowers for somebody on the side?"

"No. Geez." Link gave him a look, like he was a little hurt, and definitely put off by the idea.

"Then he's blowing smoke up your ass, Link. He likes you. He's flirting with you." Rhett let the disgust enter his voice, didn't even try to keep it out. 

Link could be so fucking flirty, but he seemed completely oblivious of the effect it could have, or the flirting that was frequently aimed back at him.

"Gosh, Rhett. You don't have to sound so grossed out."

"You get all these guys after you and you don't even notice."

"You're not being fair. You weren't there, so you can't say he was flirting. He's a good guy. It's a good sales technique, to—to give a little extra."

"He'd like to give you some extra, all right," said Rhett.

"God, why do you have to be such a jerk? Do you have to make everything about sex? I'm not doing anything, and the—the florist didn't do anything wrong either! Why you gotta look down on me all the time, man? I'm doing my best. It's just never good enough for you."

Rhett winced. "Sorry," he grated out. 

"No you're not." Link sounded disgusted. "I don't know why I try at all. Why don't you let me out there and I'll walk the rest of the way? Then you won't have to waste any more time tonight. Because if I stay in this car, you know we're gonna fight."

"We're not gonna fight," growled Rhett. "I said I was sorry, okay? And I was. Didn't realize I was sounding so critical."

"You don't have to sound critical, you just are, all the time lately. What's happened to us, huh? It feels like you don't even want to look at me lately. Like I just gross you out completely."

God, he had better not cry. 

Rhett couldn't handle it if Link started crying. It both infuriated and terrified him. Rhett wasn't supposed to be able to drive a grown man to tears, especially not Link, especially when he wasn't even trying to be difficult.

"You don't," growled Rhett. "I like looking at you." Maybe too much.

"So it's just...just the stress?" Link looked out the window and tried to pretend he wasn't blinking hard to keep from tearing up. "You're just stressed out? It's not me?"

"Sometimes it's you, but even when it is, I still like you." Rhett took a shaky breath and gripped the wheel hard, concentrating on the road.

"I don't want it to be like this, Rhett. If there's something I could change, but if it's just that I'm forgetful, or how somebody else talks to me and then you have to go and interpret it—that's just not fair, Rhett. It's like there's nothing I can do right anymore."

"You do lots of stuff right," said Rhett, feeling awkward and impatient with Link's need for praise. 

The image came unbidden to his mind. 

_Good boy_ , he'd whispered, as Link closed his mouth over Rhett's hard cock, his face flushed as he tried to take as much as he could, so eager to please, so desperate for Rhett's whispered praise and awkward, stroking touches.

 _"I don't want to hurt you,"_ Rhett used to say afterwards.

But Link would insist, _"It's okay. It's okay. I made you feel good."_

The eagerness to please had stopped after that aspect of their relationship had. When they rededicated their lives to Christ and really decided to try the hardest they could to be good Christian men. To grow up and get steady jobs and good wives and be acceptable, good men of God.

Link didn't try so hard after that, to please him. And for a long time, Rhett had never given him a single word of praise. Not a whisper, not a hint. Shame had kept him quiet. Because it had meant too much to both of them, what they used to do.

"Oh?" said Link sarcastically. "Name one thing I do right, according to you."

Rhett hesitated a beat too long, still flustered by his unbidden memories.

Link snorted. "What I thought. You know, you're a real piece of work, Rhett. You look down on me and judge me for what I used to do with you—you think I'm going after every hot guy I see—but I haven't, and I don't. I never done _anything_ excepting with you." 

The way he said you didn't sound super flattering, but Rhett's mouth seemed to be glued shut. He couldn't have interrupted the flow of words from Link if he'd wanted to. 

Link went on. "You're such a fucking hypocat—hyercri—homocrat—damn it, you know what I mean! You're one of those, _because you have_! So how dare you look down on me just because you've decided, in that twisted little mind of yours, that everybody is flirting with me? But you're the one fucking strangers!"

"I don't have a little mind!" Rhett was shouting now, too. He was too mad to drive. "All right, we're gonna have this out."

"Oh, no, how scary." Link's voice dripped with sarcasm, and he waved his hands in the air, miming worry. 

Rhett pulled the car over into a parking lot and put it into park. He turned to glare at his partner, his best friend, his first love. "Since when do you get to decide I'm a hypocrite? Mr. I Didn't Even Kiss Her Till We Was Engaged? And you think I've been sleeping with guys who aren't you? When?" he demanded, because this had to be stopped at the source. 

"On that ski trip in Colorado. You found some guy. Or what about your trip last month? I suppose that didn't have anything to do with your new special app?" 

His voice held disdain. Disdain, from Link.

"How long you been holding this in?" demanded Rhett. "If you really think I'm the kind of guy who fucks around on my wife— _That app was for research_!" 

"Right, that's always why I download hookup apps," said Link sarcastically. "Everybody does! Research! You're a rat, and you—you don't even have the balls to be an honest rat."

"You take that back! I'm telling you the truth!" They could've been kids again the way they were fighting, although they never had fought like this as kids. 

They'd both been too good at avoiding conflict, or risking their friendship. Each other's security blankets, then and ever since. Except for sometimes. Like right now.

Rhett took a deep, shaky breath. "Link. I am not cheating on my wife. I've never slept with another guy than you."

Link looked suddenly like his face was made of Play-Doh, formed not quite right, shaped funny and off somehow. "Why are you lying to me? You think I can't handle it?"

"I'm not lying to you! The app is for work. We're testing out a new idea. It's like...you get matched up with your ideal meal. That's all! I haven't, I wouldn't, hook up with somebody from an app. Gosh, how stupid do you think I am?" The words flowed out of him.

"Then you're lying about the other part. I'm _not_ the only guy you've slept with."

He never could lie to Link. Rhett gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, trying not to groan aloud. So much for bluffing through on a technicality. "It was one fucking hand job! It didn't mean anything. And I wasn't married yet, so there was _no cheating_ involved."

Link's eyes filled with tears. His Adam's apple bobbed. "No. Of course it wasn't cheating." He wiped away at his eyes quickly, rubbing the tears free impatiently. He looked away from Rhett.

"This isn't how I wanted to tell you," admitted Rhett. 

He'd never wanted to tell Link. 

Link pointed out the obvious. "You never wanted to tell me, or you would've already."

"It was before I got married. After, uh, everything, I wanted to be sure I wasn't gay. So, uh..."

"You had to try with somebody who wasn't me. Test it out," said Link flatly.

"Right," said Rhett uncomfortably. "But it, uh, it wasn't the same, when it wasn't you. Guys weren't something I couldn't live without. I didn't want to go any further and I didn't want to test anything else." Unaccountably, he felt tears prickling in his own eyes. "I didn't like having some man's hand on me," he admitted. "It wasn't like with you. You and me...trusted each other. And, like, loved each other."

"Sure," said Link, wiping his eyes. "We loved each other." It sounded so sarcastic and hurt.

"Well, I loved you," snapped Rhett. "As much as I knew how to at the time, and more than I knew how to say. If it hadn't been for...everything we believed...I'd...I'd never have suggested we stop. I really liked being with you. I liked touching you. I hated that it hurt you."

"You learned to be gentle," said Link in a small voice. His arms were tight across his chest, and he was staring down at his knees. One of them was jiggling uncontrollably. 

Rhett made an uncomfortable, frustrated sound in his throat, and waved a hand awkwardly, wishing he knew what to say, or how to express what he felt in this moment. 

He hadn't been gentle enough. He'd been used to the kind of games where you could hold someone down till they surrendered. He hadn't known much about consent or how to make sex a good experience for all parties involved. 

He'd really liked doing things with his dick and Link, and that had been about as deep as he'd been able to think at the time. But now, he winced at some of the stuff they got up to. 

From laughing at Link while he was cry and stuck on barbed wire as a little boy, to the choking games they'd played as kids, to hurting Link during sex because he didn't know how not to yet. He'd been good at hurting Link for years—and apparently, he still was.

Link made a sound like a hiccup, or a shaky breath, like he was holding back pent-up pain. "For the record, I didn't have to test out if I was gay. I'd pretty well figured it out by then. But I didn't want to be. I liked Christie, and I wanted to choose to be straight. Because that was a thing people did back then. You decided to be straight and you made it work. We had kids and everything. We made it work."

"But she couldn't make you straight," pointed out Rhett. 

There had been long, awkward years whenever the subject of conversion therapy came up in conversation, or in the public mind, when Link had gotten very, very quiet. Because in a way, that's what he had chosen for himself. He would choose to be straight; he would make it work. 

That had changed, slowly, over time, after educating themselves. They were both now firmly, officially against conversion therapy. Link was pretty open about wanting his kids to grow up as whoever they each turned out to be, and that he would love them whoever they ended up loving. Straight or not, he'd never ask them to change.

Link's voice shook a little as he retorted, "And you're a jerk for looking down on me for that. For thinking I'm always after a guy, or guys are always after me, just because you know who I am and that I can't change myself. Well maybe I don't want to change myself anymore. But that doesn't mean I'm doing anything about it, either." He gave Rhett a hard, hurt glare.

"Did you even hear what I said to you?" demanded Rhett. "I loved you. I've never been with anybody else—any guy, I mean, in a way that mattered. I wish I hadn't been so evangelical back then, and maybe it—I could've handled it better."

"And then what? Come out to your dad? No. It was better this way," said Link, practical as ever. His tone turned flat. "We couldn't have made it to where we are today if we were both of us gay for each other." Link collected his flowers and unclicked his belt, not looking at Rhett. 

Hand on the door, he added, almost in afterthought, "And I did hear what you said, Rhett. I heard all of it. You used to love me." 

He got out of the car and walked away, head up, spine stiff, holding his flowers in front of him carefully.

Rhett stared down at the steering wheel, his heart pounding, his life seeming to flash before his eyes. How had it all gone so wrong? 

His confession squeezed out of him in the worst possible way. Link thinking he'd slept with other guys—through an app no less—and the awful moment of right now, realizing that he'd used the past tense, that that had hurt Link most of all.

Loved. He'd loved Link—past tense.

The worst of it was that was true. Telling Link the truth—airing the laundry—hadn't made it better at all. They'd just ripped an old scab off, tearing away more skin than before. Because he _used to_ love Link.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

Link's keys were on his desk waiting for him the next morning. Someone must have found them. The two avoided each other and went about their mornings for as long as possible. It wasn't for long, not when you had a company together and filmed multiple things together, frequently. 

Rhett knew he was going to have to apologize, because Link could really hold a grudge, but he didn't exactly know how to apologize for hurting Link, and it seemed like anything he said would probably only make it worse. Instead he tried to catch Link's eye and look humbly apologetic and approachably friendly, but Link refused to look at him. 

Rhett started tossing paper clips at him, but Link brushed them off, and out of his hair. Rhett upped his game to rubber bands.

"Ow!" said Link rubbing his arm where one of the bands, well-aimed, had snapped against bare skin. He turned to glare at Rhett. "Quit it. We've got work to do."

"I know. Are we gonna be able to do it? I'm sorry I upset you yesterday." He jammed the words out as fast as he could, because Link looked ready to interrupt and refuse to cooperate at all. He had that stubborn look to his eyes today. 

"Forget it," said Link, swiveling back to his computer. "You know we can always work together. But stop pelting me with things. What was gonna be next, LEGOs?"

"LEGO bricks," said Rhett, just to be contrary. It barely earned him a snort. Link wasn't ready to laugh at anything he said, then.

Rhett felt sort of soft inside, and weirdly raw, like a jumbled up mess of jello with something gross inside. A creature without an exoskeleton, when it was supposed to have one. 

He didn't really know how to live with what they'd revealed to each other yesterday. It hurt to know, to have the words out there, and no way to fix them. To know that talking about them had only made things worse, not better. 

To know that Link saw and was hurt by every gross, jealous, judgmental attitude he had about Link and flirting, and guys flirting with Link. And he took it all in the worst, most personal light possible, too. 

_And he thought I fucked through apps_ , thought Rhett, but he just couldn't summon any anger about it this morning. He just wanted to get along. He wanted them to be friends and get along, and he wanted Link's eyes to sparkle when he laughed helplessly at something Rhett said. 

That always made things better, somehow. When they could laugh. Even when nothing else was right in the world, when they could laugh together, it was okay somehow. At least for a few moments, anyway.

"So we gotta prep for the meeting, go over a couple of pitches, and work on our pitch," said Link. "It's all in the schedule, but don't forget about the pitch. We gotta get that down, the places where we trade off. We gotta practice."

"Sure," said Rhett. He wondered what Link would do if he reached out, brushed his hair back, and leaned in close, intimately near, so they were breathing the same air. If he gazed into Link's eyes and said, "I still love you, you know."

"Rhett," said Link reprovingly, and pushed him back lightly with his fingertips.

Oops. Rhett had been leaning in after all.

"We're not college kids anymore. We're married. To our wives."

"I'm sorry for not being braver." The words burst out of Rhett. He didn't know how they'd escaped. He hadn't wanted to go back to their discussion, not like that. "I let you down."

"No." Link was shaking his head, quiet and in control and very firm. He was all business right now. Usually, that was good to see. Usually. "We're not talking about that anymore. That's a discussion we don't need to go back to."

"Oh come on," burst out Rhett. "We discuss everything. At length. Repeatedly. That's kind of our thing."

"Not that discussion, Rhett. We talk about work stuff, and we have conversations we can monetize, but that—not ever again." The look he gave Rhett was chilly and very, very firm. "I'm not talking about any of that with you, not ever again."

Rhett's spine prickled a little from the look Link was giving him. It was kind of scary, a line drawn in the sand. 

Link didn't usually draw those kinds of lines, but when he did—he meant business.

"I don't care if you're going to therapy now and you want to rehash every single detail and gaze at your navel." Link's voice held zero wiggle room, and very little sympathy. "You work on yourself. That's great. But I'm a part of that discussion, and I'm saying—no. Not having it." He got out of his chair and walked over to the liquor cart.

"What are you doing?" Rhett's mouth had gone dry. He watched uncomfortably as Link uncorked a bottle and poured himself a small, neat glass of brown liquid. 

"I need to be in a good mood for the show," said Link. "Loosen up. Maybe make a fool out of myself so it's funny. We've all gotta know our role, brother." 

And he knocked back the glass, shook his head, and said "GAH" and made various faces as he took down the strong liquid. 

Rhett always thought he had the most malleable face in the world.

"What about the meeting," said Rhett, mumbling his words, because he couldn't exactly tell Link to throw up the drink after he'd had it. But he wasn't comfortable with Link day drinking, either.

"I'll bridge that cross when I come to it." He headed back to his desk, ignoring Rhett.

"Link," pleaded Rhett, reaching for him as he passed. 

He meant to catch hold of Link and pull him closer, between his thighs, and hug him, just embrace him and tell him it was going to be okay, they could get through this. They always did. He knew very well Link responded to his touch for comfort, always had, always would. He'd never learned to play Link like a guitar, but at least he knew a couple of chords.

"Don't," said Link, slippery fast at evading him. "Don't touch me, unless it's for something we're filming. Just—keep your hands to yourself."

Rhett could've cried. 

Except, of course, that he didn't do that. 

He was Too Much Of A Man.

_Aren't you proud of me now, Dad?_ he thought sarcastically. 

He headed back to his own desk, where the only thing to relieve his tension was some angry typing, and half a bottle of diet Dr. Pepper. It certainly wasn't going to be both of them day drinking over this, no sir.

They had a show to run, and a company, and apparently, it was going to be all business, aside from day drinking.

Rhett was definitely going to have to talk to his therapist about how to handle this. Link's new boundaries, and whether it was possible to fix what had gone wrong between them last night.

Still, he couldn't help wishing he'd followed the advice of that stupid post-it, and not said a word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

Link was as chilly and distant with Rhett as his normally warm-hearted nature would allow him to be. It hurt, but it didn't last long. Rhett made an effort, and it worked. It always did. He could make Link laugh, and Link couldn't stay angry if he laughed enough. 

He also made an effort to be a little bit gentler with Link, not ragging him so much if he lost something, and not reacting quite as much at his slips of the tongue on their shows. 

At least he stopped day-drinking (as far as Rhett could tell) pretty quickly. And he stopped holding himself aloof, too. Before long he was once again leaning into Rhett's space to look at his computer screen, or leaning into him forgetfully for no reason at all, just because he was there.

He also stopped getting prickly if Rhett touched him, accidentally or on purpose, outside of the show. He forgot to be aloof, and would hold the door for Rhett and smile instead of stalking off ahead of him, trying to get away from him.

Really, it was scary easy to make up with Link. Doing some small, thoughtful things for him, not snarking at him as frequently, letting him have his own way about something small that didn't really matter, or bringing him a treat—leaving a stack of three bite-sized peanut butter cups beside his desk—seemed to be enough to earn Rhett a grateful smile, a warm look. 

Had it always been this easy to get back in his good graces? Rhett didn't think so. But he hadn't actually made much of an effort to do that, not for a long time. 

When they fought, Rhett usually held his guns to the end. If he apologized, he didn't mean it. He found his own ways to win, even if he lost the creative discussion (aka argument) or let Link have his own way about something. There were always little ways to get his own back. Hadn't realized he'd fallen so deeply into that habit till he made an effort to break it.

And yes, he talked to his therapist about Link. A lot. Sometimes he thought most of it was about Link, one way or another. It was all so complicated, so unfair.

If they hadn't been raised the way they were, if they'd been in a different world somehow, they'd have loved each other in a pure, clean, open-hearted and shameless way, not needing to hide behind anything, not needing it to be anything other than it was.

But instead they'd been twisted into the molds they were fit into, and they'd found the ways it was safe to share warmth, affection, feelings—singing together, talking about girls, sharing adventures, and sometimes getting a bit physically violent, because that was a safe way to touch. Choking each other, wrestling, throwing things at each other's balls...all in good fun, all the only safe way to be physical that other people could know about.

The other ways, like jacking off together side by side in the dark, trying not to giggle, whispering stupid things to each other as they raced to see who could finish first. Or in the water, a sneaky hand finding a naked body, a warm mouth stealing a quick kiss. 

And in college, when the last barriers fell away, and they slept and woke up in the same bed, sticky and too hot, and painted each other with their semen, and did other things to each other—frustrated, horny things that ended up hurting Link more than they should.

Rhett really should have learned more about anal before trying to do it to Link. 

Maybe he'd always been good at hurting Link, and Link just loved him too much to walk away. 

That sure seemed to be the case now. It wasn't more than a week before they were closer than they'd been in a long time, and Link's gaze held an affectionate, trusting sparkle, instead of that unhappy, dull-eyed look like he bracing himself for criticism and trying to get ready to fend it off.

If Link curled up next to him on a couch, tucking his legs up under him, or crossing them petitely, Rhett didn't make a snarky remark about sitting like a lady. 

If Link laughed too long and hard at something Alex said to him, Rhett didn't find a way to get back at him for it later, with some passive aggressive remark, or a cold shoulder, or ragging him about his appearance that day till Link was a mass of insecurities with a glazed, trying-not-to-cry expression. That concentrating expression, as he poured himself into something else, anything else, trying not to think, not to care—and then later, going away quietly and changing his clothes to something Rhett might find acceptable. Something that wouldn't be "trying too hard" or "too L.A." or whatever other bullshit Rhett said that day. He usually didn't mean it. He just said what would hurt.

Now Rhett tried to watch and not wince during Link's flirty interactions with others—giver or taker of flirt, didn't matter which—but regrettably, he couldn't turn off the rage and immediate jealousy. 

Link was _his_ , damn it. Nobody else was supposed to get that pure, open, loving energy aimed at them. To be listened to so completely and eagerly, to have their jokes laughed at with that wholehearted laugh. Link was _his_.

Maybe Link wasn't flirting on purpose, and wasn't doing anything wrong even if he was, but it was still pretty damned hard to watch. Rhett usually ended up stalking away, so he didn't have to watch. He'd be growly and terse for a while whenever he had to see it—like a knife in his chest he couldn't pull out—but if he stayed away till he got over it, he didn't end up punishing Link, or being cold enough with him to make Link go dull-eyed, defensive, and snippy, curling in on himself to protect his vulnerable edges.

One day, Rhett let Link have one of his older shirts, worn soft in the wash, and shrunk by a too-hot dryer till it was too tight on Rhett, straining his biceps in a way that was just slightly uncool and made him look like he didn't know what size he should be wearing.

Link's open, gleeful appreciation of the shirt warmed Rhett more thoroughly than he'd expected. He used to hold off on admitting he liked any single thing Link wore, ever, in fact made a habit of criticizing him. He used to play up the macho stuff, so that if Link was cold and wanted to borrow Rhett's jacket or sweatshirt, even if he was too warm and not wearing it, Rhett would say mocking things about his masculinity and make him ashamed of it. 

Even if Rhett eventually gave in, Link usually wouldn't accept it by then, if he'd done his job right, and they both felt like crap about it. But this, giving a shirt that was too small for Rhett—that was fine, right? They were just being frugal, something Link could surely appreciate. 

Except it was more than that. He liked wearing Rhett's shirt, and he felt good in it, stood a little taller, and Rhett liked seeing him in it, the way it fit him differently from Rhett. And it had been his—and now it kind of marked Link as his, at least in his mind. 

It was all he had for now. It had to be enough.

Not like he really wanted to change things. Not really. But it was hard not to think about it sometimes, to wish he could fix things, or had done something differently.

Maybe in another universe, he'd done things differently, either kept quiet or said what he needed to say in a way that didn't hurt Link. But not in this one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

_ DON'T LET HIM DRIVE! _

The post-it note was written intensely, each word underlined hard, and it was, once again, in Rhett's handwriting.

_ Damn it. _

If this was a joke, it was a real long play. He wasn't thrilled about it.

But if it wasn't...

The thing was, he really did wish he'd followed the other post-it's advice, and not told Link what he'd told him, at least not in that way. It had ended up hurting them both, and though they were generally in a better space now, it hadn't helped to talk about it, it had taken a lot of time to get back to a good equilibrium, and Link was unwilling to ever talk about it again.

"Rhett, are you ready?" Link pulled his jacket on, and glanced at Rhett with that friendly, open expression. He looked cheerful enough to sing in the car today while he drove. If he drove.

Rhett hesitated. They had a meeting, and it couldn't be postponed. An argument about driving wasn't a good idea.

But...

"Change of plans. Let me drive, okay?"

"What? I thought we agreed I'm driving." Link looked stubborn, maybe a little hurt, but not angry or defiant.

"I know, but I really want to drive today. I'll make it up to you later. I'll pay for lunch."

Link narrowed his eyes. "What are you up to?"

"Do you want me to pay for lunch or not?" Rhett didn't mean to get impatient, but here he was again.

"Can I get anything I want?"

"If you buy two lobsters just to waste them, no. But anything reasonable."

"I wouldn't order food just to waste it. Okay."

"No, I guess you wouldn't. Come on." 

They got along for the drive, after that. Rhett found himself unusually introspective. What would have happened if Link drove? At one of the stoplights, he reached across and gave Link's knee a squeeze, then slid his hand up a little higher, patting the inside of his thigh. 

It was a thoughtlessly affectionate gesture. They'd never been good at keeping their hands to themselves. What was easygoing and friendly to the two of them, could make other people open their eyes wide and stare like they were witnessing a sudden makeout scene. 

But then, they'd never been very good at figuring out where the lines were, either. Friendship could blur into sexual tension without anything but a weird gray area in between. So sometimes they had vacillated between not touching each other at all, acting repulsed by the slightest brush of shoulders, and other times they were practically in each other's laps and not thinking twice about it. They'd never internalized the normal rules. Had pretty much given up on that ever happening by now.

Link made a sound like a suppressed snort or giggle, almost a grunt but not quite. He captured Rhett's hand between both of his and held it, like he was holding some small, cute animal. He rubbed Rhett's hand with his thumbs, cradling him close. 

Rhett gave him a quick little smile, and drove one-handed. Link touching his hand so tenderly was something else. It did things to the pit of his stomach, coiling and uncoiling feelings that were hard to pin down, impossible to ignore. Did something to him lower, too.

Link seemed completely free, because Rhett was driving, and not staring or making remarks. He curled Rhett's fingers up, then opened them again, then pressed his face down, raising Rhett's hand, nuzzling his face against it. He had a soft face, and very mobile lips.

Rhett's breath hitched. He gnawed at his lip, and tried to concentrate on driving. His heart drummed an excited, familiar tune.

_ I wasn't going to do this. I wasn't. _

"Rhett," said Link, real soft.

Rhett couldn't breathe.

"What would they do to us, really, if we skipped the meeting?"

Rhett gnawed at his lip. Their every minute was scheduled so tightly, they almost had to blow somebody off if they were going to have any unscheduled, private time together. Not in the loft, where they could always be found. Not in their homes, for sure. Or the studio, or the lot, or in public, or anywhere, anywhere at all but this car, this stolen, liminal moment.

When Rhett didn't answer, Link let his hand drop. He turned away, ashamed, looking out the window hard. His jaw worked.

"I'll play hooky if you will, baby," said Rhett, his voice low and rough. He almost didn't recognize it himself.

Link winced. "Don't call me baby. It doesn't matter. We don't have to skip."

"I don't mind," said Rhett, his voice still funny.  _ I won't hurt you this time,  _ he wanted to say.  _ I don't know that much, but I know more than I did. Please. Give yourself to me one more time. _

"Wives," mumbled Link hunching down in his seat, looking like he wanted to hug his knees. "We'd have to confess and they'd never forgive—" He shook his head, gnawing at his lips, shaking a little. "I didn't think. Sorry. Sorry, I didn't  _ think _ ."

Rhett heard the panicky edge to his voice, and recognized the signs, maybe before Link did. His anxiety was spiking—rising into panic. From there, it could be a downward spiral. He could be out of commission for the rest of the day.

"Hey, hey," said Rhett, soft and gentle. "Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about it. We don't have to do anything." He searched frantically for a place to pull over, a place that might be semi private. 

He got onto a quieter road and found the first parking space he could. It wasn't ideal; it would have to do. He slid into park and turned off the car, and unclicked his belt so he could reach Link easier.

Link flinched at the sound. He was already in his own world, fighting that invisible war, his breathing ragged and his hands, clasping at nothing, shaky and a mess.

Rhett reached out and began to stroke his hair, very gingerly. Gentle touches. Not speaking. When Link didn't respond, he moved to the neck, massaging squeezes, his touch slow, confident, gentle. 

"Rhett," said Link miserably, his voice sounding like he'd been crying even though he hadn't. "I was gonna do it. I was gonna sleep with you even after what I said."

"Well, you didn't." Rhett tried to sound hearty and confident, instead of vaguely devastated. It wasn't always easy to pinpoint what he was feeling, but right now—it wasn't good. Not any part of it. Except for touching Link, and this wasn't how he wanted to do it.

He thought of something. "You said we'd have to tell our wives."

"Uh-huh." He moved Rhett's hand from his neck, to his chest, not the pecs Rhett couldn't resist going in to grab—Link's nips were so damn tempting—but his heart area. Rhett obliged and rubbed a soothing circle. 

His hand seemed to fill up Link's chest. Link’s breathing got deeper, slower, like he was actually filling his lungs now.

"Does that mean you told Christie? About what we used to do?"

"Uh huh." Link looked at him, his eyes still a little glazed, but more aware and alert now. "Didn't you tell Jessie?"

"No. It happened before we got married, so it wasn't her business."

Link bit his lip. "Is that how it works for you? I told Christie."

"Everything?" Rhett drew back, appalled, suddenly feeling very exposed.

Link blushed. "Well, I—I told her we used to do things. Together. You and me. And, uh, I wasn't going to do that anymore, because I didn't want to be gay? I wanted to be a good Christian husband, and she had permission to help keep me in line."

"God." Rhett squeezed his eyes shut, humiliated. 

When Christie had looked at him with judgment, or had unkind things to say about his influence on Link, or their time together, all the while she'd been thinking—

She'd been a good Christian girl. Both their wives had been. Virgins and all the rest of it. She might have imagined them kissing, then being embarrassed. A hand on the lap, sneaking up, a curious, childish exploration before they were old enough to know better. Maybe even a shame-filled hand job. 

She wouldn't have expected sweet, innocent Link to have spent a large portion of his college nights getting railed by his best friend. Bruised up by Rhett's mauling. Taking cock and begging for more. Choking on Rhett's dick, till there were tears in his eyes, and still insisting on finishing, on swallowing...

If the girls had really known the extent of things, would either one have hitched her wagon to such horny, dirty, tangled-up men? 

If she ever knew the extent... He shuddered.

"I can't believe you didn't tell Jessie," Link was saying. Meanwhile he'd moved Rhett's hand, and was again holding it between his palms. "I thought you two had a much more open relationship."

Rhett looked at him sharply. "We don't have an open relationship."

"No, I mean, like, talking." He was blushing now, and dropped Rhett's hand.

"Okay, all right." Rhett forgave him instantly, reaching up to brush away the hair from his face. He did that more back in the old days, before the end of Link's shaggy hair. There wasn't much to touch these days. And they didn't have the excuse of cutting each other's hair.

"Bo," he said quietly.  _ What are you thinking? _

Link leaned into his touch, like he wanted to be petted. Rhett obliged, keeping his touch light. 

"I can't help it, Rhett." Link's voice was a soft, miserable little sound, his accent stronger with his distress. "I still want it. I've never  _ done _ anything. But I still don't want girls. I don't want my wife, not like I should. I'm glad when she's too tired to have sex, because I don't have to pretend. I don't have to play any little tricks on myself to get hard for her. To perform." He shuddered. “If only it was because I'm old. I could live with that. But it’s not that. I never stopped wanting  _ you _ ."

Link sounded humiliated at his failures of manhood—performing for his wife, lusting after women. 

_ God, I'm not the only one who should be in therapy.  _

"Do you talk about it with her?"

"We don't really talk about that stuff anymore. Since I gave up all belief, and she didn't. I don't think she really thinks she turned me straight—we're all more educated than we used to be—but it's like a...a...comfortable secret, I guess. We pretend I'm the guy she thought she was marrying, and I pretend that I...want her."

Rhett swallowed. His throat was dry, with the thought of Link putting on a performance of the most intimate sort for Christie. He'd be good at it. He was sexy and could really commit. He'd do his best to make it good for her, even if he felt like shit afterwards, about himself and everything else. Even if he had to hide and stew in his hot tub afterwards and drink too much and be a mean old grump with his best friend the next day.

"How do you, with Jessie?" asked Link. 

Rhett thought of his gorgeous, sexy wife, who had grown in confidence so much since their early days together. She'd grown up; they both had. She'd gotten hotter, and with her mental health in better shape, she was pretty much the best wife a man could ask for.

She just wasn't Link, and she never would be.

"It's not hard to make love to Jessie," admitted Rhett.

Link squeezed his eyes shut quickly, his face looking like he was in pain. 

"I kinda hope she never guesses I settled for her. Nobody wants to be second fiddle."

"Our wives have known they were second fiddle for a long time. But it wasn't supposed to be in the ways that mattered." Link shook his head. "No. They'd never forgive us, Rhett. We can't do anything. Not  _ anything _ about it." He straightened up, tugging his shirt into place, fixing his hair with a few flicks of his fingers. And he suddenly, to Rhett, Link looked about ten years older, more like his dad than himself. "Let's go to the meeting, Rhett. It's not too late."

Pulled together, crisis over, Link seemed again very far away, but not in panic. Just locked away from Rhett, like always—untouchable in the ways that they both wanted, and weren't allowed to have.

"We trapped ourselves in all of this," Link reminded him, as Rhett drove, trying not to look too sullen and unhappy. "We found a way to work together, and make as much money as we could so nobody could stop us."

Rhett nodded. They'd made the two of them indispensable, so that it was pretty much impossible to do anything without each other, professionally. The whole company stood on their shoulders. 

How was that for pressure? A small entertainment company in the fast-changing landscape, with people's employments hanging in their decisions, with a stand-or-fall line where they couldn't take too many risks, couldn't always do what they wanted—and almost never have a minute just to themselves.

"And we packed our days so we'd feel useful, and so we couldn't be alone too much." Link balled his hands on his lap, as if to remind himself to keep from touching Rhett. "And nobody forced us to get married, either."

Rhett nodded, his mouth tight, his eyes hard. "We dug our own graves, buddyroll."

"Well," said Link philosophically, "we're not dead yet." He reached over and gave Rhett a platonic pat on the shoulder, which was somehow worst of all. "Things could always be worse."

#

They were late for the meeting, because they got caught in a massive traffic jam behind what later turned out to be a huge pileup on the highway. It didn't make their day any better, although, to be fair, they certainly weren't the ones to feel sorry for in the situation.

They passed the time by singing together, discussing some business and their meeting, and making a few quick phone calls to try to rearrange the schedule enough to squeeze everything in despite the holdup. 

The traffic jam lasted long enough that Link had to pee in a jar, and Rhett ragged him about it, while trying to pretend not to go dry-mouthed at the mere thought of Link whipping out his long, lovely cock. 

It had been too long since Rhett saw it, and unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) he didn't get a glimpse now, either. Poor Rhett, deprived of Link's dick! 

He realized suddenly, as he was tapping the wheel impatiently, that if they hadn't pulled over and had that talk, they might not be stuck in traffic now. They might have gotten there safely, in time, before the accident.

Or they might have been right in the middle of it, one of the casualties.

Rhett swallowed. 

If Link had been driving, they wouldn't have had this discussion. Because they'd only had it because Rhett touched Link, and got him worked up without trying to. He'd never have dared touch Link if Link was driving; that was danger on a different scale. The man couldn't do two things at once. He certainly wouldn't have nuzzled Rhett's hand and made gruff suggestions about skipping meetings.

They'd have either gotten through without being late at all, or...

God. Rhett swallowed, glad he'd obeyed the post-it...this time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six**

_ I NEED TO TALK TO YOU. CALL ME RIGHT AWAY. _

Link's text was urgent to the extreme. Rhett, in the middle of getting ready in the morning to go in to work, was first irritated, then unnerved, then frightened, then angry that he was frightened. He felt like he'd really mastered emotions, if he knew what he was feeling that quickly, all in a row. Used to be he was lucky to identify one strong feeling a day, and then anything other than anger.

He went out to stand in the backyard and called Link immediately, putting one finger up to his ear to block background noise from the neighbors. There was yard work going on, and construction. Already.

"What?" he asked, testily as soon as Link answered his call.

Link was silent for half a beat. "Fine then," he said, and hung up.

Rhett sighed, rolling his eyes.  _ You're worse than a girl! You get offended so damn quick. _ But he bit his tongue and called back. Pitching his voice to sound patient, he said, "Link, if it's important, tell me, if it isn't don't screw around."

Link blew out a shaky breath. "Okay, sorry, well, I thought it was important but now it sounds dumb, and if you're just gonna make fun of me—"

"Link," said Rhett, very, very calmly. "You have exactly three minutes. Talk."

"You were there! In my dream. But it felt too real to be a dream. You were...older, I guess? You looked different. Your hair was all shaggy, and your beard got really big, Rhett. You were tanned as hell." He sounded impressed—and distracted.

"And?" Rhett nudged him along. "What was wrong in the dream?"

"Well, I don't know. You were trying to tell me. It was so damned important, but damned if I understood any of it. You held my—my face in your hands, and there were tears in your eyes, Rhett. Tears!"

He sounded appalled.

"Oh, like I couldn't cry over you if I tried. I can make myself cry, you know. I could do it right now."

"It wasn't like that. It just...real. And like he was trying to tell me something. I don't know why I thought you'd know. Oh, his arms were also a lot bigger."

Rhett swallowed down a retort, and the jealousy roiling in him. He shouldn't get jealous of a muscular, tanned version of himself from a dream, for pity's sake. 

"Your hair was all curly like a lion's mane. It was a little too much. Your beard especially could've used some grooming," added Link ruthlessly. "But the muscles were pretty great. And did I mention you got real tanned? Remember how tan we used to get back in North Carolina? I miss being tan."

Rhett wondered idly how long he'd spend in prison if he strangled his best friend and business partner. Would a jury even convict?

"If that's all," said Rhett coldly. 

"Okay. Gosh. Sorry. Didn't mean to keep you from your important morning routine," he said sarcastically.

"I'm gonna pinch you," Rhett told him, and meant it. "Black and blue." There was nothing on the docket they had to film that involved removing a shirt, and Link knew very well that Rhett could and would pinch him—hard—if he was pushed to it, and the bruises wouldn't show.

"You're a scary man," said Link mockingly, and hung up on him.

Good lord, that man.

#

He didn't end up pinching Link. They threw verbal jabs at each other, back and forth whenever there was a spare second during their busy morning, till Rhett was cheered up by the sparring, and Link broke down in giggles at one point.

But he did press all up against Link once, all too briefly, pinning him against the closed door of their office. Link felt skinny and hard against him, his heart beating like a trapped bird's, as he looked up at Rhett, a mixture of vulnerable, wary, and turned on. You couldn't miss that look, at least Rhett couldn't.

"Calling me about stupid-ass dreams," growled Rhett, in his space, wanting to touch him, but only daring to hold him caged there, pinned. He knew he couldn't dare say what he wanted to, so he just let his low, under the breath growl say it instead.

Link's shiver was instant, impossible to hide when they were this close. He leaned forward, gnawing his lip. His eyes practically begged for it—a kiss, a punishment, sex, just more of Rhett's attention. Whatever Rhett could give him, he'd take it. He was so nakedly hungry.

Rhett gave him a little push, back against the door and drew back. Link's face shuttered immediately and he looked humiliated, ashamed—anywhere but at Rhett. He was shaking a little when he sat back down at his desk. Nerves, probably. Rhett was only shaking on the inside. 

That had been far too close. It seemed like no matter what they said, the lines were getting blurred again. Maybe they always would.

It wasn't even a day later that Link was curled up beside Rhett, reading over information about a sponsor, while Rhett was working on some writing. Somehow, Link was curled up pressed up against Rhett's side, and it was just somehow easy—thoughtlessly easy—to put an arm around him from time to time, and pet him. 

He stole Link's glasses and put them on himself at one point, to take that frown off his face. Link smiled—reluctant, genuine, wide—and reached for them back. 

Rhett reached for his face. Link twisted away, but Rhett got one hand up against his cheek. "Ooh, baby, don't you love my big beard and muscles," he said sarcastically.

Link rabbit punched him, but not as hard as he could have, with those bony knuckles of his. And that really did deserve a pinch, which he got—two, because he fought back, and then begged Rhett to stop, like a big baby—and then they were disheveled and getting hot, Link pressed all down under Rhett in the couch, breathing hard, looking at each other. 

Link struggled ineffectually to get a hand free. "If you break my glasses," he whispered threateningly. He couldn't get his hand all the way free, but he could get it close enough to Rhett's junk to make a rough grab, and make Rhett jump and yelp. 

Playing dirty, was he? Rhett pinched him again, hard, and this time Link yelped.

"You're so mean!" he complained, wriggling under Rhett, in a way that felt far too good. "We're not in college anymore! You—you can't just hold me down!"

"I'll let you up as soon as you submit," said Rhett, because he was well aware from that look in Link's eyes that he hadn't given in. He'd retaliate the second Rhett turned his back. Maybe he'd only throw a pillow. Maybe not.

"Surrender." He increased his pressure, bearing down on Link.

"Rhett," complained Link, squirming but not very successfully. He brought out the pout. " _ Please _ . We're grownups."

Rhett couldn't help laughing at that. "You never sound like a grownup when you call yourself a grownup."

"You're mean. You're just plain mean. And—" Groaning, laughing, straining—definitely not surrendering—he added, "And you don't have a—a chin!"

Rhett freed a hand up to fake a slap at Link, and Link flinched as he was intended to. But he also rolled free of Rhett now, giggling a little nuttily. "Ha! Take that, oaf!" He aimed a half-hearted kick at Rhett and then, worried, peered down at him. "You didn't hurt your back?"

Rhett groaned theatrically.

"Oh, Rhett!" Link was all remorse. "Let me help you up. You need an ice pack? Oh, Rhett! I told you we're not kids!"

"My...poor...back," said Rhett, barely hiding his grin, before he lunged.

Link caught on, but not fast enough.

"Dude, that's no fair!" Link's pout was back, but he was trapped by tentacle limb Rhett. Even more securely than before.

"I'm dead."

"It—it's not fair to fake back injury! Rhett!" Link wriggled and squirmed and tried all his tricks, but none of them were enough for the Rhettster. "You're  _ not fair _ !" said Link again, huffing, squirming, generally being very fun to hold down.

Rhett let his eyes roll back in his head in the most disturbing way possible. He made his expression blank, his mouth open, and a zombie sound effect for benefit.

"Rhett," complained Link, red in the face now, trying for all he was worth, but uselessly. He was tall and he was no weakling, but he was also a slim, trim man without the sheer brute muscle of Rhett, much less the actual size and reach.

"Rhett," said Link, beginning to sound really upset. "Stop that! It's gross! Let me up. I'm not a baby."

"Surrender," whispered Rhett, coaching him. He'd forgotten how to end this. Maybe Rhett hadn't been 'I'm deading' him enough, if he could forget.

With a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and what looked like the beginning of tears of pure frustration in his eyes, Link stilled and said immediately, "I surrender."

"I submit to Rhett," coached Rhett, not changing his expression, keeping his voice low.

"Rhett." Link rolled his eyes and scoffed.

Rhett began to make louder zombie noises.

"Okay! Okay! I surrender to zombie Rhett."

"Submit."

Link winced at getting it wrong, even when coached. He tried again, only stumbling a little over the words this time. "I s-submit to Rhett."

Rhett's face creased with a smile as he let Link up, immediately. You had to immediately reward good behavior, and punish back behavior, like training a dog or a kid.

Link tried to straighten himself up, his face still red, his breathing hard. It was clearly a lost cause. 

Rhett moved in, all tender warmth now, and began to help fix his hair, to brush off and straighten his shirt for him. Link tried to shrug him off, then closed his eyes and submitted to the ministrations.

"Good boy," said Rhett, teasing and soft. His mouth wanted to kiss Link's. But he didn't move in, just gazed down at him affectionately.

Link opened his eyes, a hint of wariness in them. "I didn't—"

The door opened and one of the crew rushed in, and they sprang apart. Link was flushed and his clothes were messed up. Rhett probably didn't look any better.

Chase stared for a moment, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Then, consummate professional that he was, he got right to the point. 

Whatever that was.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter seven**

The two families were hanging out with several families they were friends with and having a backyard pool party. All the kids were either in the water, splashing each other and carrying on, or sitting nearby on their phones, ignoring everyone.

The adults were in little clusters, most of the women chatting, some of the guys stretched out on pool chairs or playing horseshoes, and a few brave souls were in the water, actually swimming. The adults all had wine or beer. 

Rhett nudged Link. "What's with you, man?" he whispered. Link was staring longingly at the water but he hadn't made a move towards it all afternoon. He also hadn't taken his shirt off.

Rhett had already won a game of horseshoes—satisfying some of his urge to dominate at sports—and he missed Link, who wasn't acting quite normally for him. So he'd gone to seek him out at the drinks table, where he was rearranging bottles and stirring lemonade and generally fussing with things he didn't need to attend to at all.

Link leaned close to whisper back. "You peenched me, man. I can't cover it up if I swim."

Oh. Oh no. "That's still—" Rhett was flustered. "How hard did I...?"

"Hard, man." Link met his gaze then, the faintest twinkle in his eyes. " _So hard_."

"Is your wife mad?" Rhett asked gruffly. She wouldn't be fooled by any bullshit about getting hurt at work.

Link shook his head faintly. "She hasn't seen it."

So they weren't sleeping together? Or just in the dark? Rhett's mind whirled with possibilities. On the one hand, he was glad not to have to face repercussions. On the other hand...the thought of them only doing it in the dark seemed kind of sad to him. Not appreciating each other in all their glory. But maybe that made it easier, if Link wasn't really attracted to his wife the way he wanted to be, if he had to work himself up to it.

Rhett leaned in and said even quieter. "Can I see?"

Link shot him a narrow-eyed, disapproving look. "Gotta admire your handiwork, huh?"

"No, I wanna see how bad I got ya." He let his hand stroke lightly, very lightly down Link's back, and rest on the lower curve of it. "Please, boo? I'm sorry."

Link was easy to melt. He only hesitated a second. A quick glance around, to be sure nobody needed him, none of the kids were having trouble, and that nobody was laughing at them for whispering together—and he said, without moving his lips, "Follow me in a minute."

So saying he moved away, got himself another drink, and wandered towards the house as if he needed to get something.

Rhett timed it carefully, and when nobody was watching, followed Link. They used to be good at finding private places where they wouldn't get caught, wouldn't get funny looks if they both left together. Not so now. Rhett hesitated in the kitchen. "Where...?"

Link pulled his shirt up on one side. Black and blue marks showed where Rhett really hadn't held back. He winced. 

"Why did I pinch you again?" He wanted to touch, to soothe the marks, but there was nothing he could do. He shouldn't have made them in the first place.

"I don't know, man. Once you get started..." Link let his shirt drop and turned to the kitchen counter, where there was fruit salad. He used the serving spoon to dish out a single piece of watermelon, put it in his hand, then nibbled it over the sink delicately.

Rhett glanced around him, then eased up to Link, putting an arm around him, fitting them close together. "Sorry, man."

Link slurped his watermelon, and shrugged his bony shoulders. "S'okay," he mumbled. "Just, nobody'd understand."

Rhett didn't always understand, either.

He let his free hand trail up, started playing with the hair around Link's ear. He was used to it going gray now. Didn't make him want to touch any less.

"Rhett," said Link uncomfortably after tolerating it silently for a few moments. "You shouldn't."

"Okay," said Rhett. He moved his hand back, but nudged his cheek against the side of Link's face, squeezing him against Rhett's side for a moment, before releasing him.

He wanted to touch Link. He'd have been happy playing with his hair, his body, for endless moments, quiet and apologetic and soft. He'd have been happy to go into the bathroom and bare their dicks and jerk each other off hard and fast and dirty, making Link come so hard there were tears at the corners of his eyes.

"Please, Rhett. We gotta go back out there." Link sounded distressed, a little tremor in his voice.

"What?"

"Don't look at me like that." Link's voice was low and devastated. "You're makin' me think things."

"Do you and Christie have sex in the dark?" asked Rhett abruptly.

"What? No." Link's blush was hard and fast. "Not always."

"God. How does that make her feel?"

"Since when do you care what my wife feels? You barely care what your wife feels," said Link, bristling at the implied criticism.

"I care," said Rhett, wounded. "Who do you think I am?"

Link snorted. Before he could find a retort, someone entered the kitchen, flip-flops flapping—one of their friends' kids. Pool-wet and running to the bathroom, he tripped on the slick floor. 

"Hey, hey. Slow down." Link caught the kid's shoulders quickly before he fell on his face, then released him gently. The boy ran on, barely acknowledging the save.

Link was good with kids, gentle, and he really cared about them. He wasn't a perfect dad, but he loved his kids and made sure they knew it.

Rhett wondered how that would be, to grow up feeling completely accepted and loved by your parents. 

The interruption broke the mood, and they didn't resume their argument after the kid was gone. Instead, they both dished themselves some food peacefully and headed back out to the pool, silently tabling the discussion and forgiving each other. 

Rhett didn't even make any pointed remarks about Link only picking out the kinds of fruit he liked best. Or the way he chewed every bite so damn slowly, as they sat on deck chairs side by side, Rhett staying out of the pool in solidarity, keeping his buddy company. 

It wasn't so bad, really. They didn't argue, and nobody called Link out on wearing a shirt. Lots of people kept their shirts on; it just wasn't usual for Link. They watched the kids, and the other adults got to relax a little more. 

It was only fair, since they did so little childcare most of the time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter eight**

"What's wrong with you?" Rhett demanded when he first saw Link in the morning. He frowned at his best friend, who looked like he was equal measures pissed off and trying not to let himself get tearful.

"Nothing!" snapped Link. "Get away," he snapped, shaking free of Rhett's hands on his shoulders. "Don't touch me, man!"

"What did I do now?" demanded Rhett, pissed off already, matching Link's energy. "I haven't done anything." 

He hoped it wasn't about his remark about Link and Christie having sexing in the dark. It wasn't his business, and if he'd messed up whatever fragile balance they managed in their intimate relationship, it wouldn't be great for his and Link's relationship, working or otherwise. But that didn't mean he was happy about being met with such a bad mood. Link was supposed to show up ready to work, damn it, not mad about something that didn't matter on the clock.

"You could stay out of my dreams, for one thing!"

Rhett relaxed subtly. "What did I do now?"

"You piss me off, that's what you do!" Link really was almost tearing up.

"Hey, if you want to tell me, tell me. I'll listen. You listen to my dreams often enough." He waited but Link didn't say anything. "If not, pull yourself together and let's get to work."

Link didn't say anything, but he rubbed at his eyes a little, and when he walked past Rhett, he aimed a punch at Rhett's arm—hard. 

#

Rhett was trying not to let himself get jealous and angry as he listened to Link tell yet another gushing story about his massage therapist. 

The other day it had been his main trainer at the gym, the guy who "worked his ass to the bone." Link loved a workout that left him wrung out, hurting, and getting stronger. 

He hadn't exactly been a gym bunny in college—way too busy for that—but he'd loved working on his abs, his definition. He'd showed his hard work off as much as he could, too. If the situation didn't require his shirt, he wouldn't have one on. Who wouldn't show off if they had abs like that? 

Now he had more of a dad bod, and he wasn't a kid with a kid's recovery time anymore. But he loved a good workout, and you could see in his body, the way his arms got bigger, his waist stayed narrow and his ass was really, really defined.

It was a very pinchable ass. Rhett considered himself quite the saint for keeping his hands to himself. He was so self-disciplined.

Link had been bragging about his favorite massage therapist, the man who really knew how to work his muscles, who could give him the kind of hard, deep massage that left him rubbery and relaxed, all traces of anxiety beaten out of his tense muscles. 

Link loved to gush over men who did things to his body. This was when he wasn't going on about his latest favorite actor, or musician, or saying something that sounded a little bit inappropriate about one of their employees. 

He didn't do the innuendo on purpose—Link respected their crew and never tried to make things awkwardly sexual with them—but it happened all the same, and Rhett didn't exactly love it.

He also didn't love it when Link got mad at him about something Rhett had done in a dream, and then didn't even tell him what it was.  _ That's real bitch territory, Neal _ . They were going to have to talk about that if he didn't snap out of it pretty damned quick.

Instead, he was politely distant and professional when they weren't filming. And didn't look at Rhett much when they were. His personality was turned up high, bright and cheerful for the camera, but between takes, he sat quietly, looking down, or fiddled and fussed with the props, his outfit, the desk. 

Rhett backhanded him on the shoulder and told him to knock it off, but that didn't help. They had to focus. They couldn't have a discussion—or a fight—while they were filming. They put on their game faces on camera, presenting a united front, all conflict only playful and related to the game of the day. Sometimes Rhett got so damn sick of this.

Afterwards, in their office, Rhett said, "What the fuck, Link?"

Link gave him a mildly surprised—and displeased—look. They tried not to swear at work. It got too easy to get comfortable and then accidentally swear at home, and it made work more complicated, too. You had to be camera ready. You had to keep the atmosphere professional for the crew. You had to keep your shit together and not blow up and cuss around people at all. But they were alone now, at least for a few moments.

"I was professional. You were the one pouting."

"I don't pout, and I wasn't."

"You do too pout, and you were pouting."

"It's not fair to get mad at me about something in a dream. At least tell me what I did."

Link hesitated. 

"If you wanna keep it secret, fine, keep it secret. You're a big mystery, Link," said Rhett sarcastically. He certainly was not going to apologize for whatever awful thing he'd done if he didn't even know what it was! "You're a dark horse."

Link flung a paperclip at him, hard. "You cried, okay? You took my head in your—your damn hands and you cried and said, 'Please don't die, Link. I can't live without you.'"

Rhett was appalled. "I said that?!"

"And then you  _ kissed _ me. On the lips, man!" Link threw another paperclip at him, his face screwed up like he was trying not to cry. His breathing sounded jerky. "You were all—all soft and mature and gentle, older and more open, and so...kind. Not like you at all!"

"I'm kind! I'm the kindest guy you'll ever meet!"

Both of them were pretty close to shouting. "Don't tell me not to die! Don't kiss me, and don't be so fucking soft!"

Rhett blinked, hurt. "Hey, it came from your mind, Linkypoo."

"It didn't. It was too real." Link turned away, swiveling to his desk again, and put his head down on his arms, a look of defeat, his shoulders shaking a little. "You're an asshole."

At least in this universe, he didn't have too-long hair and worry about Link dying all the damn time.

Rhett was torn between wanting to comfort Link and wanting to slap him. He couldn't do either one, so he turned back to his desk and typed angrily, and for quite some time.

Link pulled himself together after a bit, blowing his nose, arranging his desk, and finally getting to his own management tasks for the day.

They didn't resolve it. Not really. And Rhett wasn't apologizing, because it was just too damn dumb.

But at least he knew what it was about now, and could roll his eyes about it, instead of worrying what awful thing Link had dreamed of him doing. Hurting him, maybe, during sex. That was the kind of thing Rhett had bad dreams about. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter nine**

YOU NEED TO BUY HIM A HOME.

What the fuck? 

Rhett had almost managed to forget about the post-it notes telling him what to do. In his own handwriting, no less, and being right sometimes—the nerve!—but this was just a little too far.

Buy him a house? A fucking house?

Rhett crumpled it up and tossed it away. He went about his day, pissed off and defiant. 

It wasn't till the middle of the night, when he sat bolt upright, that it came to him. A creative house! They'd gone places so they could be alone and work, sure. It was a pain to clear the schedule, but it was the only way writing deadlines got met, and sometimes, it was the only way they could actually concentrate on song writing or making new ideas, or writing pitches. 

The thing was, they both got distracted so damned easily. Link, if he got off task, really struggled to get back to it sometimes. He needed quiet to think, not to be interrupted every few minutes by something business related, one of the crew members, something that needed signed or addressed or figured out. 

And Rhett had never been good at concentrating. He certainly wasn't good at thinking creatively when they were surrounded by a madhouse of activity in the business they'd built, with deadlines piling up, work related and home related and Link related mini fires always needing to be put out.

But when they rented somewhere together, when they went away—then they could let down their hair a little, not be camera ready all the damned time, and actually focus on creativity. 

To be honest, Rhett also cherished their time alone for a different reason. He got to have Link to himself, unflustered, unconcerned about his appearance, sleeping in and not fixing his hair, not putting on a shirt. 

Sometimes (and Rhett would never admit this to anyone as long as he lived), he even liked it that Link didn't bother showering every day. Link made jokes about "letting himself go," but it was good. He smelled like himself, like a man. A sort of clean musky smell, not the sour sweat of stress or the overpowering odor of a hard workout. Just a good, natural Link smell. 

Rhett tried not to get handsy, but the night often ended with them still deep in a creative discussion, and sitting up with each other, Rhett rubbing Link's back till he got sleepy enough to start yawning and lay down. 

They usually rented small places, so that meant a chance to share a bed, squeezing in together, arms around each other. It was a good way to sleep, comforting. They were careful about not letting it get to be anything more. They didn't fight, and they treated each other with an almost Victorian sensibility at first, careful of space, reserved, polite. 

But by the end of however much time they had, they were always snuggling every night. Rhett's mouth would usually end up against Link somewhere, even if he wasn't actually kissing him, because they didn't do that. Kiss. That was too far. But days and nights together, half clothed, talking and talking, working and being close, touching and laying down together, that was all good.

It was so good. His wife often remarked how relaxed he was after one of their little creative getaways. She'd even joked once or twice about them having it as a regularly scheduled thing, so he'd be easier to live with. 

Ha ha. Rhett was a dream to live with. A regular dream! (Although if he'd ever said that to her out loud, she'd have said, "Yeah, a nightmare.")

But a house. A whole house, rented together, with space to be together, and an excuse to work more—and maybe cuddle sometimes—that was something worth thinking about. 

He grabbed his phone and made a note. CREATIVE HOUSE. Then he texted Link a couple of poop emojis so he'd have something annoying to wake up to. And then he went back to sleep, excited by the possibilities, but too tired to stay awake and daydream.

He must not have gone deep enough to sleep, because he had some really intense dreams, and he remembered most of them. They were the sorts of dreams he'd talk to his therapist about, but nobody else. They were a little heavy-handed even for that. 

In one of them, he was fighting a dragon, trying to protect Link, who was tied to a rock, a virgin sacrifice. The ropes were loose, but Link wouldn't let himself out of them. He stayed there, plastered to the rock, white-faced and terrified, watching the dragon get closer.

In another, Rhett was a spider up on the ceiling, trying to hide in his web as Christie tried to smack him with a broom. She was concentrating really hard, her brow furrowed. She looked so huge to him, to Spider Rhett. She kept almost getting him. He was in the Neal bedroom, in the corner near Link's side of the bed. 

Link was behind her, saying her name and something else Rhett couldn't quite catch. Rhett was trying so hard not to get squashed. Once again he saw Link's face as pale, anxious and afraid, as he watched, waving his hands ineffectually. 

In the third dream, Rhett was swimming. He and Jessie were both swimming. Jessie looked amazing in her blue bikini. She was so hot. He slid an arm around her and kissed her, but she tasted like pool water. 

Link was on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, legs crossed primly. He'd shaved them. He was sipping some colorful, fruity-looking drink, and he wore that stupid Hawaiian-shirt patterned romper he'd gotten for some photo shoot or other. His hair was primped and perfect in a way that said he spent long minutes fussing with it. He wore his work glasses and had a little bandana tied around his neck just so. In short, he looked extremely gay.

He watched Rhett with judgmental eyes, drinking hard, so his cheeks hollowed as much as they were capable of hollowing. Rhett focused on that sucking motion. He swam over to Link. 

Then he woke up. 

There had been more dreams than that, but they faded to obscurity, the weird logic of dreams connecting them all, even though they weren't connected even a little bit.

That very day, he started looking into what it would take to get a creative house, and the way they would afford it and justify it for tax purposes—a place of business, but also a place where they could crash. It would have to be like the previous rentals—definitely tax deductible to an extent—but more long term. 

Possibly a place with a pool.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter ten**

The creative house idea was an easy sell to Link, and it wasn't hard to get the ball rolling on that, with a budget and a list of things they wanted in the house. Rhett's other idea, to start doing vlogs together for the new year, was a much harder sell. Link stayed stubborn. "We give enough of ourselves to the audience. You think our families would agree to that?"

"We could film at work," argued Rhett. "Or go and do special things, like playing corn hole, or a daytrip, or some stupid prank."

"We can't get away with prank videos."

"No, you know what I mean. Like, we could set up a fake cell phone booth with the world's worst coverage plan and try to sell it. Or pretend we were a cult recruiting members. Something stupid funny."

"That sounds like a lot of work," said Link doubtfully.

They discussed it, shuttlecocking the idea back and forth, in many iterations, but in the end, he couldn't get Link to agree in time for them to plan anything properly, so the idea was tabled.

The house went well, though. They set up the place to suit themselves, with help from Jenna and the crew where appropriate. Link put his record collection on the walls. They got a few pieces of nice furniture, the rest from storage or their own garages, or off Craigslist. They brought over some old props and fun items from their past work together, now that they had room to display things. 

Link brought over a bed he'd let his cousin sleep on when he was staying with the Neals. Just one bed, though. Just a small little bed. It wasn't like they were planning to fuck each other on it.

But the first day they went there, together, when it was more or less setup, they paused inside the door, and Link leaned against Rhett, an arm around him, cautiously affectionate. "Our own place," he whispered, his voice husky and low with embarrassment and emotion.

"Ours," agreed Rhett, ruffling up his hair and then daring to lean down and kiss the top of his head, quick and affectionate.

Link enjoyed setting up the fridge just so, and their bathrooms, and his office. Rhett set up his own office and got soft rugs for the floors so Link wouldn't clomp around in his big boots and make noise all day. 

Link cleaned, and cleaned, and cleaned, and thought while he was cleaning. Sometimes Rhett stared out the window in his office, just watching the sunlight play here and there, back and forth across the lawn. It was wonderful to have quiet, and aloneness, and to have it actually scheduled into their days, like proper work.

It was good to see Link calmer, less flustered, overwhelmed, or distracted. When it was quiet, and they could think, and Rhett could be alone with him. 

It wasn't a small enough place that they were always in each other's business, and since they weren't on deadlines, they didn't have to talk constantly. They could be together, they could be apart. 

Sometimes Rhett pulled Link onto his lap and nuzzled and rubbed him gently, taking out his affection on an embarrassed but hungry Link, bony and wound up sitting on him, his breath hitching if Rhett got too close to turning him on. 

Rhett had gotten better at delivering the touch and affection he wanted without pushing Link over the edge, to where they either had to go all the way or Link had to run off and take care of himself. But they definitely skirted the edge of Link's libido pretty damn hard. 

He'd stroke Link's back, his thigh, his head and neck, talking to him, distracting him. Link could get flustered and turned around and start stumbling over his words, his breath hitching, his face hot, as he bit his lip. But he wouldn't run off, not if he could hold himself together even a little bit. 

He'd play with Rhett's hair sometimes—he was letting it grow out a little, but definitely NOT to the length of the guy in Link's dreams—and sometimes, as if overcome, Link would lean into him close, face against his neck, breathing. 

"Rhett, don't," Link would groan if Rhett got too close to touching him  _ there _ .

But they touched each other, casually and a lot, every time they were in the house alone. Even their assistant Jenna being there wasn't enough to stop them some days. Leaning into each other's spaces, casual arm around the waist, a face pressed to neck or shoulder, a hug that lasted too long, too close, to be considered casual by anyone in the world.

Rhett would feed Link, right from his fingers, especially small foods, like a single blueberry, enjoying the feel of his nibbly little lips as he took some treat or other, his expression gently trusting.

They could spend all day working, relaxing, hanging out, and if one or the other of them had to excuse himself, and maybe take a shower, neither of them said anything about it.

That was before the kissing started. Link was good at kissing, always had been. Long, slow, leisurely kisses that never went anywhere. Both of them getting hard, Link on Rhett's lap till Rhett patted his side and told him to get off.

The bulge in his pants as he walked off, trying to look unaffected. He'd come back later, casual and no longer turned on, but smelling stronger somehow, more Link-like, and more like sex, even if he'd taken a shower. 

Rhett liked to press his face against Link's neck and just breathe. He liked that Link was hard for him, had to get off to handle being around him. He liked making Link horny, because Link made him horny often enough. 

He even kind of liked knowing they couldn't do anything about it. A test of willpower. A way of earning this closeness. It didn't count if they didn't jerk each other off. It didn't count if they didn't fuck.

But he kissed Link like he never wanted to stop, like he was going to make this last forever. And Link, panting, desperate, a little glazed-eyed, would kiss him back as long as he could bear to.

It was a Creative House—and a good investment, because they actually were getting lots of work done, despite everything—but it was creative in other ways, too. 

How much skin could they show, how many times could they kiss, how close could they get, without going that one step too far. 

Sometimes they played challenging games for their show, but this was a harder—and better—game. 

Everybody won. And lost.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter eleven**

GO HOME.

The post-it note was clear. Direct. Impossible to misinterpret. And somehow it seemed even more intense than the others. Rhett stared at it, his mouth going dry.

How was he supposed to turn around and go home the second he got to work? What sort of excuse could he possibly give? What would his family say to him being there?

It was the middle of summer, 2020, a relaxed, hot day, very dry, and everyone in his family was staying home except for him, because once again, he had to work. Good Mythical Summer or not, they had projects to do, and ideas to polish and start the ball rolling on. 

Plus they were thinking of making some changes to their show, trying to figure out ways to get more food content (which seemed to attract new viewers better than anything else) while not making their loyal audience stir-crazy. It was a tightrope to walk, and took some real effort to figure all of this out, even when they were on a summer schedule.

It was no good going straight home. But...something told him if he didn't, he'd regret it for the rest of his life. It was just a feeling, but it was one of those feelings Rhett got that he'd learned not to ignore. 

Giving up, Rhett sighed and sent Link a text.  _ I'm sorry man, I'm going to be late. I have to head back home real quick. Catch up with ya at lunch or sooner. Rhett _

He still signed his texts, like an old man, when he was trying to make Link laugh and roll his eyes, instead of be annoyed with him.

Rhett hopped in his car and headed back home. He felt dumb, but he was going to do it and not second-guess this. Whatever happened, it wouldn't be worse than ignoring the warning.

"The timelines are shifting so fast now, anything can happen," the voice on the radio was saying.

Rhett turned it off. He liked New Agey shit, and he loved a good conspiracy theory as well, but he needed to focus. 

The lanes were filling up. Something was up. This was fire weather in Cali, and it put everyone on edge. The driving was crazy, but Rhett held it together and stayed safe, stayed in control even when people were swerving in and out, risking accidents to cut a couple of minutes off their driving time. Crazy stuff.

His cell phone made a noise, but he didn't reach for it. Then it made the noise again. Not a phone ringing. Not the sound of a text. No, this was one of those alerts—an emergency. He reached for the phone, grabbing twice to catch hold of it without taking his eyes off the road, and held it up and looked.

_ EMERGENCY: WILDFIRE _

He didn't read the rest. He had to drive. He was sweating, despite the AC. He saw it now, smoke rising not so very far away. No wonder the roads were crowded.

How could it be? They'd looked at the news, and the weather, this morning. Yes, it was tinder season, but...there hadn't been a wildfire in the area. They always kept up with Wildfires in the McLaughlin household. Crazy not to, if you lived in Cali. You had to take these things into account to navigate life and work and driving here.

The highway was blocked off. God damn it, this was his turn. People were stopped, honking. The highway out was even more crowded, no chance to turn around, no way to get through. Rhett picked up his phone and read the rest of it—nothing helpful, he already guessed the worst. The fire was traveling fast, and damned close to his neighborhood.

He texted Jessie. The message sat there, unanswered, without any notification that would have reassured him that at least she could still get his texts.

He gnawed his lip, trying to think. Disaster prep only helped so much if you were stuck in traffic.

Fuck it. He turned off his engine, got out and started to walk. A couple of people flipped him off, but he ignored them, a long, tall, desperately frightened man striding through traffic, and then up into the hills, so he could get around the barriers. Nobody stopped him, if they even noticed. They were too busy dealing with the traffic snarls, and how to get everyone out of the area. Everything had gone to hell fast.

In the distance, he saw the faint glow of fire against the sky, and billowing smoke. Helicopters were flying around, to drop chemicals and water and maybe to evacuate people. He checked his phone again. No signal. There was always a signal in this area. Were the towers overloaded or affected by the fire some other way?

He texted Link, not sure if he'd ever get it. Maybe it would go through if he went through a patch of area that had reception.

Rhett was sweating hard, panting. Should he have stopped to get the emergency kit from the trunk? But it would have slowed him down even more.

He recognized the area now. Could cut through backyards without getting lost. 

He didn't see anyone around. It was often dead here during the daytime, people at school or work or indoors from the heat of the day. But this felt different, post apocalyptic. 

He was closer, he realized, to the Neals. He detoured slightly to go to their door, knock and try the door. Was anybody home? Had they gotten out? God.

"Hello!" he shouted.

Link's youngest, Lando, came to the door, opening it, his face worried. "Rhett?" he said.

"There's a fire. Everybody's gotta get out of the house!"

"What?"

"Yes, where's your mom and siblings?" He tore past the kid and took the steps two at a time to the bedroom. "Christie? There's a wildfire. Gotta get out."

She sat up in bed, looking bewildered, half asleep. "What?"

"Didn't you hear the news? There's a wildfire. Right here. We have to go, now."

"I had a headache. I didn't check the news. I guess my cell phone is downstairs. Oh, no!" She started to hurry to get up.

Rhett didn't wait, but went to the other kids bedrooms, pounded on the doors and roused two groggy teenagers who hadn't heard any emergency warnings either. He explained. They moved quickly, gathering the dog, the youngest, some water, and a couple of items it would be hard to replace, and their phones. 

Nobody had reception now; they checked. He saw them to their car, and told them to go to the highway. Here they met resistance.

"We're not leaving without your family. Get in!" said Christie. Her head was still killing her, but the woman was a fighter.

Rhett got in. They drove to his place. There were no vehicles in the driveway. He got out and opened the door.

"Yo! Anybody home!" he shouted, the door banging loudly. The house felt empty, scarily so.

"Dad?" said Shep incredulously, rubbing his eyes like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "What are you doing here?"

"There's a wildfire. Where's your mom and Locke?"

"Grocery shopping?" said Shep. He'd been eating cereal, still in his PJs.

"Let's go. Barbara!" He shouted for his dog.

#

"I can't believe we lost everything," said Jessie, tearful and terrified. She'd had the worst of experiences—running out to grab some food and supplies with her eldest son. He was planning a party at their place, a get together with his friends. Then finding their way home blocked, the roads closed, the warnings out there—and no cell service.

It had been a mother's worst nightmare, leaving her youngest home by himself, just for a few minutes, and then finding out he could die.

Christie had steered the minivan with all the kids and dogs and Rhett to safety, taking back roads she knew by heart, avoiding the main roads and the worst of the jams. In the end they'd driven to Mythical Entertainment headquarters, because they couldn't get in contact with anyone to meet up elsewhere. Finally, they were able to reach Jessie and Link, and everyone met up again. There were hugs, tears, and listening to radios with baited breath.

Rhett actually watched a shot of the fire on the news, encroaching on the highway, eating up his car and others that had been abandoned, as people fled to safety on foot. The fire was fast, and evac not up to it. Despite heroic efforts and everyone pitching in, seven people died that day. 

"We didn't lose everything," said Christie. Nothing had helped her headache, and she looked like she was going to throw up, but she spoke clearly enough. "We're all alive, aren't we?"

Link came over to Rhett and hugged him, too. He'd been hugging everyone, and Rhett supposed he was no exception today. He squeezed him hard round the middle.

"Yep. We're all alive, and that's what matters."

Turns out they all had to stay in the creative house. It would take a while to get insurance worked out, and the houses were a total write-off, both of them.

And that was only the beginning. The summer of fire had begun, even though they didn't know that yet.

#

Burning.

It seemed like everywhere in California was burning, once, twice, and again, fire ravaging forest and valleys and sweeping through communities. Not just the ones that had been built in obviously dangerous locations, but everywhere. It was like the Camp Fire times ten. 

Every morning, you checked fire status. There was a state of emergency all summer long. Housing access plummeting as more and more places were destroyed.

The Blue Ocean event was a historic occasion that might have garnered some more attention, if anyone here could spare a thought for it.

He and Jessie seriously discussed sending the kids to safety, to stay with family in North Carolina. It would save them some trauma, maybe—and maybe more than that. But the hurricanes battering the East Coast put them at risk there, too. 

Devastation piled up around the country (and the world) as climate change hit with abandon. All levels of government response seemed to be lacking, no matter where you lived. 

None of the awful weather that was killing people was even acknowledged as climate change by the US government. Rhett sometimes felt like they were actively trying to kill everyone. Meanwhile, political drama and scandal after scandal unrolled in the oblivious press, with a few stories of fires or hurricanes to spice things up, before quickly moving on to commercial break, and then something else political. Rhett had rarely felt so alienated in his own country.

Link had started getting panic attacks. Almost losing his family, air quality that required face coverings, and a now-uncertain business model had thrown a monkey wrench into his routines, and into his life, more surely than almost anything else could have. 

A global pandemic might have come close, but it was hard to think of anything else that could've been this all-encompassing.

As well as that, YouTube had instituted some sudden and unexpected changes relating to a new law, and making their job harder. Advertisers had started jumping ship right and left, and YouTube income plummeted, just when they couldn't handle it. They'd been working hard on the Society, but it didn't bring in enough to cover the bills at Mythical.

Perhaps most selfishly of all, Rhett missed having time alone with Link. They didn't have a moment to think. Talk about putting out fires! Mythical had to be evacuated for almost a week, when fires raged near their studio, back and forth, closer and closer. In the end, it didn't burn, but the traumatic situation put them back by a lot more than a week. 

Employees were jumping ship, leaving California, moving somewhere—anywhere—safer. If you had family somewhere, you went there. If you could get out, you did. People were leaving, dying, and suffering. Homeless populations had ballooned here, and the state's response was inadequate at best. The warring State and Federal governments gave only ineffectual aid to the dispossessed.

Rhett and Link upped their company's charity contributions as best they could, but there wasn't a lot to spare. Link, who was good at it, ran after sponsors, and worked with the remaining crew to make the money stretch. Jessie and Christie did their best to combine households inside the creative house, squeezing everyone in, making do with what they had, since almost everything they used to have was gone in the fire.

Only the dogs were truly happy, because they were together all the time now.

Rhett knew they'd gotten damned lucky. But it was all still pretty damned hellish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That feeling when your AU is a bit close to reality by the time you're posting it. 😬


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter twelve**

BOAT, said the post-it, and Rhett understood it immediately. It wasn't safe on the land anymore. It didn't feel safe to close their eyes and sleep at night. Everywhere there were fires, and California, with its fire ecology, had its share and to spare. 

But even the Arctic was burning. Sea level rise had been measured already. It was likely to get a lot worse in the coming months and years. But was being hushed up in the news. There were more important things to talk about, like the stock market, which was somehow soaring despite all the death and destruction of property around the country.

"Real estate value rose at record highs," announced a pundit importantly. 

Rhett turned him off disgustedly. What the guy meant was that so many people had lost their homes, there was a housing crunch. Somebody was making money on it, of course. 

All their friends' lives were in just as much uproar. Rhett couldn't look after them, or keep up with them, the way he would have liked to. He was struggling to keep his head above water and look after his family, the Neals, and the crew at Mythical.

Locke had managed to get an esports sponsorship, and needed good internet. He had a small office at Mythical for now, and Rhett didn't have the conversation he'd planned to have—the ultimatum, really—about college. The Californian college he'd been planning to go to—reluctantly—had too much fire damage to open for at least a year, maybe longer. 

2020 felt like the year everything was on pause, everyone was just struggling to survive. Frankly, if his son could earn some money, Rhett wasn't going to be a snob about it. College would have to wait. Maybe, with the way the world was going, it would have to wait forever.

Lily had begun volunteer work for the extra help with fires that the state and local governments constantly needed. She emergency delivered supplies, drove people to safety, and she cried every night when she got home, overwhelmed by the horror of this overwhelming nightmare. She wasn’t ready to go into higher education yet either; not while the world was burning. Her tender heart made her want to help, want to fix it. But the world was still burning, despite heroism from so many. 

The younger kids seemed to handle it the best, despite fighting over a lack of space and dealing with the trauma of losing everything. But it wasn't easy on anyone. 

Grocery runs were always accompanied by satellite phones now. Nobody went anywhere alone, and someone always had a satellite phone.

Rhett missed the carefree days that felt so long ago. Had it even been this same year? He had to stop watching the news, because it made it impossible for him to think of anything else, when he heard the big picture stuff. But he had to think about other stuff, because he had to take care of things, and people, and make it all work.

Link wasn't sleeping, and he looked like a shadow of himself, older by years, the gray in his hair somehow more prominent, his bones sharper, his eyes dimmer. The trembling in his hands was worse, and he wasn't eating enough to suit Rhett. 

But unfortunately, they were all doing the very best they could. There was no magic bullet here.

Rhett started looking into boats families could live on. With bad sea level rise and bad fires, the water might be the only safe place to live. They might be able to outrun storms better than they could other disasters waiting to happen.

Weirdly, although their almost-doing-sexual-stuff games had had to stop, their closeness was, if anything, greater. Link regularly sat on Rhett's lap if they were alone, or just sat close even when they weren't, leaning against him there, while they ate, or talked through the latest emergency or blowup, or did whatever had to be done. It was like Rhett was the only safe place he had left.

It broke Rhett's heart, in a slow, casual way, how much Link had to turn to him. There was nobody else for him to turn to.

Now that they all lived together, it was impossible to miss the tension—the more than tension—in the Neals' marriage. Even when they kept their voices down, the arguments were impossible to ignore. The occasional raised voice was worse; the sound of something being thrown was awful. Link, limping and biting his lips not to cry, broke something in Rhett, some final straw.

"Get a divorce," he snapped at the two of them one morning, when everyone's nerves were raw, and they were trying to ignore each other, Jessie fiddling with the coffee maker, Christie and Link being awkwardly polite, as if everyone hadn't just heard their latest dustup. 

At least the kids were outside. They'd gotten out of there as quickly as they could.

"Well, we really think you guys need to do something," said Jessie, turning to face them, embarrassed. "It's not good for the kids. Do you want them to grow up thinking it's normal to fight so much?"

"You two fight," pointed out Link, defensive and hurt. 

Rhett glared at him, eyes narrowing as he came up with a devastating response. Jessie touched his arm, stopping him, and intervened instead.

"It doesn't seem like a healthy amount of conflict," she said awkwardly. "I don't hit Rhett when we fight, for one thing."

They all looked at Christie. Red flushed up her face. "I don't—" 

She stopped. She looked at the floor.

Rhett almost felt sorry for her. Almost. He'd known they had a contentious marriage, but he hadn't known there was actual violence in it, not until he couldn't escape the evidence. The sounds of a loud smack, or thump, or something being thrown, and the obvious damage Link had taken.

Yeah, he was a clumsy guy. He'd never been quite as clumsy as he let on, though. He'd been getting walloped, by his own wife, from time to time.

The stress of this time and everyone being jammed together had increased it, but still. This wasn't new. They just weren't able to hide it anymore.

Rhett had never hated Christie in the past. He'd never even admitted to himself she was his rival. He remembered lying awake during Link's wedding night, feeling desperate and not knowing why.

He was a good Christian boy. He was trying so hard to feel happy for his friend, his best buddy. Link had turned over a new leaf! He had a beautiful wife and a good life! 

He was going to be so happy!

And if Rhett felt hurt or left out, it was only because he wasn't married yet. He was definitely going to be married and have just as much fun as Link, and be a real man and a good Christian husband. It was going to be great.

So why was he so miserable?

The thoughts entered his head again, fleetingly there and gone. He'd ignored all signs that things weren't what they should be in the Neals' relationship. Christie was a sweet, strong-willed woman, beautiful and delicate and fierce. She wasn't wrong when she got fed up with Link.

Link had more or less jokingly mentioned fights they'd had in the past, where she'd flung something at him and damaged the wall, or they'd yelled so loud they woke the baby, who then wouldn't stop crying. Always in a humorous way, and always sounding like he was exaggerating for effect, for sympathy, to Rhett.

And Rhett, tough guy that he was, didn't give out sympathy for such things. He'd said, "Well, you probably deserved it," and Link would agree.

After a while, he’d stopped sharing these stories. And Rhett hadn't asked, had  _ never _ asked. He well knew how annoying and stubborn Link could be. He'd drive anyone nuts. And of course it was normal for couples to fight. That was how you solved problems.

But it turns out fighting could mean very different things to different people. To Rhett, fighting with his wife was a few sharp words, and a discussion about it later, ending with a compromise and probably sex. The Neals, on the other hand, always seemed to end fights with Link being hurt. And not in a fun, kinky way that he might have actually enjoyed. 

Now their secret was out.

Link wasn't saying anything. But when he looked up at Rhett, his eyes were swimming with tears, and his expression was almost begging for understanding. "I don't want to be a divorced dad."

And Rhett got it. He really did. 

Link had grown up so anxiety-ridden and worried about abandonment. He'd barely known his father till he was a grown man. He would never do that to his kids.

Rhett just looked at him. "Get out," he said brutally. "You think that's what they need to see modeled? You think it's worth dying for, not getting a  _ divorce _ ?" 

Link blinked, startled.

Rhett looked at Christie, and let his lip curl, his disdain show. "Stuff like this escalates, didn't you know? Domestic abuse."

"It's—" Christie still wasn't able to defend herself, under Jessie's pitying eyes and Rhett's scathing ones.

She looked down at the floor, and then she started to cry.

Link hesitated, making a move as if to comfort her, and then not. Jessie stepped forward, and put her arms around her friend. 

Rhett caught Link—gently—by the arm, and took him outside. "We need to have a talk," he said. "Walk with me."

"Rhett," whispered Link, tugging to get free, gingerly, because he was still very obviously in pain. "I have to comfort her. She's my wife."

Rhett turned him towards the lane. "Walk with me," he demanded. The kids didn't need to hear this, but it had to be said. Link walked with him, reluctantly.

"You really want your kids to grow up thinkin' that's normal? Spousal abuse?"

"I'm a guy, Rhett. I can't be abused."

Rhett snorted. "You know that's a lie."

"Rhett, she's my wife. They're my kids. I can handle this. It's hard right now, yeah, but...we'll figure it out. And you don't have a say."

"Like hell I don't."

"You don't," said Link. "I know my role. And," he added pointedly, "sometimes love hurts."

"Not like that. Not violence in anger. I never did that to you."

"You did stuff to me," said Link mumbling, looking down. 

"Yeah, I was a real asshole. I know it. I hurt your feelings and didn't apologize. I wrestled with you and didn't stop when you wanted me to. I fucked you wrong and it hurt. But I never  _ once _ raised a hand to you in anger."

"You slapped me on GMM," he mumbled. 

"And you slapped me. The wheel told us to, and we never did it again. Link," he said, despairing. "You can't. You can't stay with her. Not when it's like that. I thought you had a better relationship than that."

"No," said Link. "You didn't want to know."

"Maybe I thought that," agreed Rhett. "But I know now, and I'm not gonna ignore it. You can't stay with her, not in the same bedroom, maybe not in the same house."

"Where am I gonna sleep? With you? You gonna protect me, big man? From a little blond woman? Who'd believe you?" He spoke in a mean voice, and snorted. "Even Jessie won't after they talk."

Rhett realized this wasn't about him at all. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I guess you tried to tell me years ago and I couldn't hear it. I thought you were having regular fights."

"She wouldn't kill me, Rhett." He looked dismissive, pissed off. "You said that about excavating—escatating— _ escalating _ —but it's not true. Christie wouldn't hurt me, I mean  _ really _ hurt me."

"Stop it," said Rhett, appalled by what he was hearing. "The cat's out of the bag, okay?"

"I can take whatever I have to take, Rhett! I'm not some weakling, I'm not a baby. I'm a man!"

"A man who lets his wife beat him around," snapped Rhett. "What kind of man is that?" 

Link had grown up knowing the worst sin in the world was raising a hand to a woman. That had stuck. 

But Christie hadn't gotten the same lessons in the opposite direction, apparently. Because, of course, a woman couldn't "really" hurt a man, not in any way that mattered. As if all 'real men' were built of concrete, and nobody owned sledgehammers.

"I don't want to talk about this with you," said Link. "What, you think if you push us to divorce I'll let you fuck me? Get a grip, buddyroll."

The mean tone of his voice didn't surprise Rhett, but the words did. "No! God. This isn't about me, for once. This is not okay."

"It's not your business," said Link flatly. "I'm going back."

"Don't," said Rhett, but it was a plea, not an order. "Don't go back. Link!"

But Link turned around and walked back to the house, the once-creative house, now the house Rhett would never be able to think of except as a place of conflict, strife, and violence.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter thirteen**

It took awhile to find the right boat. He tried to get Link to move onto it, but Link wouldn't. Neither would Rhett's family. 

"The kids don't need to be even further away from a normal life," Jessie told him. "It's hard enough already."

So Rhett prepped the boat for a life on the waves, in dock, but in a half assed sort of way, and by himself. He was kind of bitter about it, but there was so much else going on that he couldn't really hold it against anyone not wanting to make yet another big change to their lives.

Link barely spoke to him now, and only for work.

Rhett was pretty pissed off about that. He'd been trying to help, and suddenly he was the one to blame?

Christie and Link were doing therapy shit. Not even proper therapy shit, it was counseling through a religious organization, one Christie picked. Damn it. No doubt Link would get an earful of just what an awful husband he was and everything he was doing wrong.

Well, he probably was. Link had been known to fall asleep when his wife was having air travel anxiety. He'd slept through her panic attack instead of comforting her. He'd shrugged his shoulders about her chronic headaches more than once. He'd rolled his eyes about her worries over the children's out-of-her-control future. He'd done passive aggressive things, he'd struggled to listen to and care about her worries. He'd put kids and work first, he'd never loved her enough and in the right ways that let her feel loved. He was a little shit sometimes. But he'd never "really" cheated on her, he'd tried his damndest, and he wanted to make it work. He truly loved her, just not in the ways he was "supposed" to.

On one memorable night, Rhett had to bust in and separate them (aka stop Christie's rage attack) because she'd looked through his laptop and found folders of gay porn. 

Wonderful. Just what their kids needed to learn through the walls about their parents! Though they went to bed almost every night with earphones and music turned up so they wouldn't hear, wouldn't have to know. 

Link, scratched and bloody, was a miserable, tearful mess. He couldn't—wouldn't—look at Rhett when he dragged him to the bathroom to dab his wounds and bandage him, and see how badly he was hurt.

"I messed up," said Link, rocking in his distress. "I messed up. I'm a rotten person. It—it wasn't even _nice_ gay porn, Rhett. It was nasty stuff. Like, really dirty. Oh god." He put his head in his hands, shaking. "I'm so gross."

"You're a gay man married to a wife who beats you."

"She doesn't beat me, Rhett."

Rhett scoffed. "Fine, whatever. I'm just saying. Something's gonna give. It's fucked up. Why won't you leave her?"

"We're—we're working on us," said Link, but his lip trembled, and he looked so dreadfully bleak that Rhett pulled him into a hug.

Rhett had been cutting back on his therapy ever since everything went to hell. Time and money both being issues. But he started it back up now. He knew very well some of this was about him, whether anyone else thought so or not. Their lives were all so tangled up together, how could it not be?

He went trying to find answers to help them. Turns out therapy didn't tell him how to fix other people's messed up relationships, or sometimes even his own.

"I hate that she touches him. I hate that she lays a hand on him. She gets to take him to bed, she gets to hurt him, and what do I get? Nothing!"

At least it was better to have these discussions with his therapist than to take his anger out elsewhere. His family was dealing with enough. God knows Link didn't want to hear it.

Rhett put a lot of his frustrations into the boat. 

It was about a month after the gay porn incident that Christie filed for divorce. Christie, not Link. She also moved out. She had some other friends to stay with, but they didn't have room for the kids. 

Jessie stayed friends with Christie, and tried to play a neutral party, but she admitted to Rhett, even she was glad they were separating. 

Rhett wasn't nearly so charitable. He thought (and occasionally said) some pretty harsh things about Christie. He felt personally betrayed that she'd hurt Link. He'd thought they were all four—the two married couples together—on the same team, working towards goals, fighting off challenges, trying not to hurt each other.

Now, he wished Link had a prenup, and told him he should fight for full custody. 

And Link told him to go to hell and mind his own business, which was par for the course, unfortunately.

The house was much quieter after Christie was gone. But not really any happier. Perhaps unfairly, Rhett thought it was just like her to have to have the final word—he wasn't leaving her for being gay, she was leaving him! So there! As if she hadn't tried to wrench him into being who she wanted him to be for years, punishing him when he couldn't or wouldn't.

Link had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and he'd decided to blame Rhett for the divorce. He stuck to his guns: it was Rhett's fault, not Christie's, not anybody else's. Heaven forbid the divorce was necessary for everyone's peace of mind. He was mad at Rhett; Rhett was the villain here.

And so, inevitably, Link's campaign of revenge began.

He didn't waste time trying to get his wife back, perhaps because even at his most delusional, Link couldn't help being practical. No, he wasted time getting even with Rhett.

It was many little tortures now, instead of rare and by accident. He weaponized Rhett's attraction to him. And the jealousy factor? There wasn't a man alive he wouldn't flirt with, if he thought it would get Rhett's goat. 

The filters were down, the barriers were burst. When he wasn't around the kids, he had a dirty, explicit mouth. He regularly tortured Rhett by asking "casual" questions, such as whether he thought it was too much to "go all the way" on the first date, and what he thought of the newest gay dating app he'd downloaded.

He went on dates. On dates, with men. 

_Men who weren't Rhett!_

He didn't talk about the details, but he hinted, and somehow that was worse. 

He was the best dad he could be, around his kids, but with everything falling apart, Rhett felt like he and Jessie were doing more of the stability and emotional guidance for all five of the kids these days. Lily and Locke were almost not kids anymore, but Rhett realized now just how young college age could be; they still needed support, and lots of it, with their world falling apart in every possible way. 

Rhett was a misery. He knew it. He tried to put on a happy face, but he didn't manage that very well.

There weren't any helpful post-it notes. Not that he got to his desk all that often these days, either. In the midst of the economic depression that was hitting everywhere seemingly at once, regardless of sector (of course, aside from housing), they'd had to cut staff, cut episodes, and cut the budget way back. They'd put the studio space on the market. They'd hire out some of the rooms if they could, sell the whole studio if they had to. 

They'd gone to three episodes a week, and the comments were full of complaints. Their chemistry was off. Where was the old GMM magic, the show that could make everyone laugh no matter the trying times? And why wasn't Link wearing a wedding ring anymore?

The comments continued, the profit margins were getting squeezed thinner and thinner. It was a kind of personal hell to watch all they'd built slip away—and Link didn't even seem to care. He was grieving hard, and he was a little shit to Rhett anytime he could figure out a way to be. 

Sometimes that meant wearing something slutty out of the office, so he could go on one of his dates, and making sure Rhett got a good, thirsty look. Sometimes it just meant holding himself distant and chilly. But whatever he was doing, he just couldn't spare the care and attention he once would have had towards their company, spiraling the drain. 

It wasn't that he didn't do everything he could; he held up his end. Link Neal kept his promises. It was that he just didn't care anymore, and maybe he never would. He'd lost his wife, he was desperate to keep his children and take care of them properly, and he'd lost his best friend. The world was burning, and he had a lifetime of suppressing his truth to get over, before it was too late. Eating gross foods for other people's enjoyment just didn't make his top ten right now.

Rhett missed his Link. He missed his old life. He even missed being bored and wondering if this was all there was in life. Now every day felt like a struggle in some new and awful way. If it wasn't Link, kicking up his heels and being gay, and not being Rhett's friend anymore at all, or the financial constraints, or the fires and global warming issues, or the business that seemed to be slowly and steadily falling apart...it was the fact that he couldn't fix any of it. He couldn't actually hold it together, not even himself.

One evening Jessie told him they needed to talk. They went on a walk, and she held his hand. 

He thought, _This might as well happen._

"I know you love him," said Jessie very quietly, holding Rhett's big sweaty hand. 

He felt like an oversized sasquatch. He swallowed, hard. 

"Yeah, I love him." Love didn't seem to matter much right now. It wasn't hard to admit; it could mean so many things. And none of them counted for shit. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't have Link, not in any way at all.

"I always knew. I used to lay awake at night, thinking about and dreading the day you'd decide to leave me. I knew it would be for him."

Rhett opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was horrified that she'd been so worried about losing him. To his mind, the thread of their love ran strong through the rest of his life, where Link weaved in and out, bobbing and unstable, no matter how deep and dear.

"I'm not leaving you," said Rhett, finally.

"I know," said Jessie. "I can make you stay. There's no excuse to make you leave. I'm not an awful enough wife. Even if I hit you like Christie hit Link, you probably would just laugh at me and tell me we needed to work out a safe word."

Rhett laughed, because it was true. He couldn't be scared of Jessie, not like that. Her disapproval, sometimes. Her disappointment in him, maybe. But they laughed together too much to be afraid of her physically. 

"I was so afraid of losing you. I thought of ways to make you stay. But none would ever hold up, not really, not to Link, not once the kids were old enough. I felt like you were biding your time. Like we had an expiration date, like the kind you talked about on your podcast that one time. I knew it wasn't really theoretical, and it wasn't really that far away." She took a deep, shaky breath. "You're pretty transparent sometimes, Rhett McLaughlin, no matter what you think."

Rhett drew a shuddering breath. He'd never meant to make Jessie feel like that! Maybe he didn't believe in soul mates, but he believed in the sweet, feisty, broken girl he'd married—and how strong she'd become.

"The thing is, you stood by me through the worst of it. You loved me through the days when I could barely function at all. When my mental health was so bad death might have felt easier. You haven't let me down. I still don't want to lose you, but—I feel like if I don't let you go, I really will lose you, in some way that matters more than sex."

"What are you saying, Jessie? You're divorcing me?"

"No. I'm saying we should have an open marriage. Not tell the kids. But sleep with other people. When they're old enough to understand, we can tell them, if we want to. But right now, they all need stability. I'm not going to be a hot mess like Christie. I just think we should sleep with other people. And for you, that means Link."

Rhett swallowed. How had his throat gone so dry? "What does it mean for you, Jess?"

"Well, I don't know yet. You're the only man—the only person—I've ever slept with. I married you when I was very young. Young, naive, and battling mental illness desperately. I believed everything the church told me, and I never, ever experimented or dared to think about what I wanted, what my body preferred."

Rhett felt tears coming into his eyes. He'd known all this. They'd talked about it. "I tried to do right by you."

"You're a good man, Rhett. And we've tried lots of stuff, and so much of it has been amazing. And I will always love you. But if I don't get some distance from you, I'll live my whole life making love to a man who will always want someone else more. And that's not fair to me, Rhett. I've always loved _you_ most—and you've loved _him_ most."

"Jessie," said Rhett helplessly. "I'm sorry." Because he'd tried. He'd tried to love her most. But she wasn't wrong. 

She was so wonderful. And she'd still never be Link.

She shook her hair back and smiled crookedly. "I'm not asking for an apology. That doesn't change anything. But maybe this will. I know my looks won't last forever. And the world is slipping away. Probably the Antarctic ice sheet has months, not years, and then everything gets even worse. I did what I set out to do. I've been a good wife, a good mother, and I have my own business—well, had—but I've never really been my own person. 

"I've been part of your package deal. The wife you had to marry to be married men together, you and Link, since you couldn't be what you wanted to be to each other. I don't want to be that accessory anymore. I know you love me, and I know I love you. We have the kids to bind us, always. Isn't that enough?"

Rhett swallowed thickly. Through his tears, he said, "I didn't know you felt that way."

"I'd rather have died than admit it. Maybe I'm braver now. There really isn't much left to lose, is there? I can finally tell the truth, I guess."

"So, you'll, what? Experiment? Date other guys?"

Rhett tried to think of his wife, out there among the assholes on the prowl. She was hot. She was an amazing catch, and guys would be angling for her. He didn't know how he felt about that. He'd probably be horribly jealous later, but right now—he felt nothing.

"Maybe some girls," admitted Jessie. "I don't know yet. If you really don't want to, I'll stay. I'll be loyal to you. But I think you should know how I feel and what I'm ready for. I'm ready to be _Jessie_ , not Rhett's wife."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter fourteen**

And so the rest of Rhett's world gently, quietly fell apart, breaking, and it was nobody's fault at all. It simply was. Jessie needed to be Jessie. And Rhett...Rhett had never really hidden how he felt after all.

He'd been a shitty husband, and a shitty father, because he couldn't love his wife more than his best friend and business partner.

It was an awful realization, possibly as devastating as Link's divorce had been for him. 

Jessie was very, very discreet. But Rhett was not blind, and she didn't go out of her way to keep him in the dark. She'd said "maybe women" but it was mostly—possibly only—women. She kept her date nights to a strict schedule, when Rhett or Link could watch the kids, and she only went out after the kids’ bedtime.

Christie was keeping her kids half the time now, so they were probably even more in the dark. 

Rhett was quietly devastated to watch Jess drive off on the back of a leather jacketed woman's motorcycle. Or hop into a little Subaru with a beautiful, smiling woman, eager to find out where the night would take them. 

She often came home smelling very nice, and humming, and looking more beautiful than ever. 

Rhett was miserable about it. He hadn't known what he had till he lost it. Link _and_ Jessie, because Link still wasn't forgiving him. He made a "talk to the hand" gesture and walked off when Rhett tried to explain about the new rules Jessie had introduced for them.

When Rhett wrote him an email explaining the whole thing, he didn't respond. 

It was devastating to be so far away from each other. No matter what, they'd always been able to talk things through. Even when they didn't end up agreeing. Even when it hurt. To have this distance was like torture, like waking up missing an arm and leg with no warning beforehand.

He'd wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Instead he didn't get to do either.

One night Jessie came home and said, "Where's Link?" She seemed surprised he wasn't there, possibly playing footsie with Rhett while she was gone.

"Link's gone. He's got his own thing going on. A date," he said bitterly. "He's fed up with me, too."

Jessie stared at him, not quite a gape. "No. Not Link."

"It's the truth. He blames me for their divorce, and he isn't even my friend anymore." 

Rhett could tell he sounded sorry for himself, a real ball of self-pity, but he didn't exactly know what to do about it. Had Rhett really kept up appearances good enough to fool Jessie? Jessie was so clever, though! Apparently she'd seen through him for years.

God, the poor woman, stuck with Rhett, dying a thousand little deaths whenever he chose work or Link over her. No wonder Christie had snapped, if that's the kind of thing she was dealing with. 

Well, along with being married to Link which would surely be a trial for anyone. It would probably drive a perfectly sane person nuts. Rhett should really consider himself lucky that Link wanted nothing to do with him these days.

Christie was slowly getting on her feet. With the alimony, she could afford to take care of herself and the kids. She was getting therapy, following up more for her chronic pain issues, and generally trying to pull herself into a better place, without Link. 

The distance seemed good for her in some ways, though it was hard on the kids being shuttled back and forth. Lily was thinking of finding her own apartment, if such a thing was possible in the current housing market. To be honest, though, the divorce wasn't as hard on the kids as hearing all the awfulness that went before it. 

But it wasn't exactly an easy time for Lily, Lincoln, and Lando. It was hardest for Lando. The sweet little boy just wanted everyone to get along. To feel like he had to pick sides was beyond him, intolerable. He told his Mom that he loved her best, and he told Link that he loved him best. 

He confessed those things one day to Rhett, and cried, feeling like he was bad for not being able to pick, not being able to be honest.

Rhett, who really didn't know what to do about kids who cried—his own weren't prone to it—had patted the boy's back awkwardly, and said, "You can have two favorites, that's okay."

It hadn’t exactly worked out for him, though.

#

Link's quiet dignity deserted him one day when they were filming, and it turned out one of the cameras hadn't been rolling correctly, they'd only gotten part of the footage they needed, and they'd either have to film a lot of it over again, or piece together a sub-par episode.

He burst into tears before he could stop himself. 

Appalled, Rhett stared at him. The crew froze awkwardly. 

Link pushed away from the desk and got up hurriedly, leaving as fast as he could.

Rhett got up, not knowing if this was a mistake or not, and followed him to the loft. 

Link had flung himself down in a miserable huddle on his fancy chair. It no longer did anything fancy; it had broken during a power surge, and there was nobody who repaired those sorts of things available right now, or maybe ever again.

"I'm sorry. I'll be ready in a minute," said Link, wiping his eyes, sounding more humble and human that he had for a long time.

Rhett sat down next to him cautiously and put a hand on his thigh. "Take your time."

"Oh, now you're patient!" He wiped fretfully at his eyes, scowling. "I'm gonna be all splotchy!"

"A dab of makeup," suggested Rhett, rubbing soothingly. "When am I not patient?"

"When your—your wife says you can have me. And when I don't want to get divorced," he added darkly.

"You still blame me." Rhett sighed and withdrew his hand.

Link grabbed his hand and put it back on that thigh. "I'm saying it's not always your timetable, Rhett McLaughlin."

"You've made that abundantly clear. Trying to torture me with your dates." He squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

Link scoffed. "You don't care," he said confidently.

"What? Of course I care! You're driving me nuts."

"Yeah, because I'm too gay. Well, woopsie daisy, sorry! Turns out my wife left me because I'm a damn gay. And then you have to turn your nose up at me about it! Well, _poor_ Rhett. Because it turns out you can't have this..." He pointed crudely to his crotch. "...without this." He made a gesture encompassing his face and his body, a rather effeminate gesture, while his face was hard, his expression hurt and indignant with a kind of raw, wounded pride. "Turns out, I'm _gay_ -gay."

"I know you're gay, you stupid shit! That's no reason to stop being my friend!"

Link shouted back, "You don't get to look down on me just because you're bi! So-freaking-what, you can fuck girls and like it! Doesn't make you superior!"

"I never said it did!"

"And now your wife's busy elsewhere so you come running to _me_? You've got some nerve!"

"Boy, you are dumber than a brain dead squirrel. I've been after you for quite some while, if you haven't noticed."

"You ain't!" snapped Link. "If you minded me dating other guys, you'd have stopped me!"

"What? How? With a club?" He caught Link's wrist. "I ain't a caveman!"

Link tugged free of him.

"Get on my lap," growled Rhett. "Right now. Get on me."

Link reached out and aimed a slap at Rhett's face. 

Rhett caught his hand, flinching from the blow in time. "You don't get to take this out on me. You don't get to blame me forever. I'll take it for a while, but not forever. You want me out of your life? Maybe that can happen. Don't push you luck, baby." He released Link's wrist, roughly.

"I don't wanna push my luck. I want things to be okay again. I don't want everything to be wrong, and—and it is." Tears formed in his eyes as he stared at Rhett. He didn't even try to stop them from falling as he spoke. 

"Christie left me,” said Link. “I failed at marriage—at the hardest job I ever tried to do. I failed. I'm less of a man now—and I'm also being who I really am. But even that's not good, it's bad, because you look at me like I'm something you scraped off your shoes. All fuming and mean-eyed and _judgey_. You don't get to judge me! I tried harder than you and it wasn't as easy for me. And now your wife's busy elsewhere, so how dare you? How dare you look down on me for what I am?"

"I don't! I'm just tired of you parading your men in front of me and trying to make me jealous!"

"What?" demanded Link, looking befuddled. "I don't have any men. Nobody—I'm not making it past any first dates at all. I'm certainly not _parading_ anybody. I'm talking about being gay, and you're—" He stared to choke up. "You're being just like you used to be, but worse, _because you're supposed to know better now_. You're supposed to love me no matter what!"

"And what, help you pick out your outfit so somebody else can fuck you? No chance in hell."

"I'm not your dirty laundry and I'm not too gross or damaged. Somebody will love me someday, even if you don't—and fuck you, by the way, for making me think—" He swallowed, hard. "That I'm gross and unlovable. I'm not."

"That wasn't me. That was Christie. You're off the deep end. I was just jealous. You were trying to make me more jealous, and it worked."

Link shook his head, hard, but he was crying too hard to answer.

Rhett growled at him, opened his arms, and between him tugging and Link clambering awkwardly, sharp-elbowed and bony-kneed, they got him into Rhett's lap.

Rhett held him, rocking him, stroking him, crooning nonsense at him. They both cried, Rhett a little, Link a lot. 

At the end, he was wrung out and still, hiccupping in Rhett's arms.

"You still want me?" he said.

"I always want you," said Rhett, and they were the truest goddamn words he'd ever spoken.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter fifteen**

Rhett woke up. He felt more alive than he had in he didn't know how long. He looked at Link, sleeping soundly and curled up to him. He didn't know if anyone would realize they'd spent the night in the same bed—the one in what used to be Link's and Christie's room—but he thought if he got up quickly and quietly enough, no one would.

He gave Link a quick kiss on the forehead, and then eased free of his entangling limbs. Link made a complaining noise in his sleep, but didn't wake up. He searched briefly for Rhett to grab hold of, then gave up and went still again. For a second, Rhett stood still, staring down at him, mouth gone dry, as he tried to understand the sequence of events that had led to this, sleeping next to Link, on purpose, in bed.

He couldn't exactly be grateful for all the things that had led here—some of them, frankly, pretty damned awful—but for just this moment, he was very glad to be alive in this timeline.

Then he moved away and got dressed quickly, a little smile on his face.

They'd made love last night, quiet, with the door locked, hoping not to wake the kids. They'd made love late into the night, nothing fancy, mostly kissing and touching, hands traveling each other's bodies, worshiping, memorizing, discovering the ways they'd changed and the ways they'd stayed the same.

"We got old, brother," said Link as Rhett stroked his graying chest hair.

"Don't call me  _ brother _ when we're fucking."

"Is that what we're doing?" Link stretched a little, arching his back, making his thin chest more prominent so Rhett would keep touching.

"No. I mean. When we're together." He blushed, because somehow it was too hard to say "making love" out loud. And technically, there was no penetration or even oral sex that night; they just touched each other a lot and kissed and snuggled and got off a bunch of times together. Not as innocent as the old masturbation races, and not as intimate as the old penetration sessions—but somehow just the right speed for that night. 

There was so much that was new, and so much changing. They didn't need to go too fast. 

And Rhett really, really didn't want to hurt his Link again. When they were ready for anything that involved orifices, they'd have to be good and prepared first. Even oral didn't feel safe (though Link said he had pretty good mouth skills and Rhett should trust him), when Rhett knew very well he'd choked Link before on his dick, when he was young and horny and dumb.

"I didn't mind. I liked being with you," Link had said in a small voice, twining his arms around Rhett's neck and kissing him, here and there, little nibbling kisses against his collarbone and neck and chest and cheek. 

"All the way?" Rhett had said mockingly, and Link had pinched him. And then they'd laughed and kissed some more and touched each other.

But now it was morning, and he needed to go. They weren't planning to announce anything to the kids. Good thing he had the boat now. They could use a little privacy, when they could afford to sneak away. First he had to head in to work and take care of the tasks for the day, but he'd be planning something special for this evening.

Maybe they'd feed each other strawberries and watch the sunset. 

Nah. Probably nothing that romantic. 

There were practicalities involved, even in a short time away from home, and that meant they'd probably only have time for fooling around and not for romantic gestures. 

Still, a guy could dream.

#

Link smiled as he stepped onto the gangplank. He stood tall, he looked happy and refreshed, his movements were fluid and relaxed. His gaze was locked with Rhett's. And that was bad.

Because on his second step, he misjudged and fell sideways off the plank, and into the water.

He hit his head against the board on the way down. Hard.

Rhett, terrified, dived in after him, still wearing his boating shoes. He got Link out of the water somehow—a deadweight—but he couldn't revive him. 

He watched his best friend and lover and everything else die in his arms. It was too much. Nobody should have to endure this.

He was vaguely aware of what happened, with the EMTs, and poor Link being declared dead, some details more than others.

The world felt very different without Link in it. He knew he cried. He screamed. He wasn't entirely sure what happened after that, because they took Link away from him. Link's body. 

When he was himself again, at least enough to feel aware, he was at Mythical. Someone had picked him up, so he could be somewhere quiet and grieve, rather than be locked up in overcrowded mental facilities he was probably fit to go to, at that point.

It was hours later, and he didn't know what was happening. There was blood on his arm where he'd hurt himself somehow, and he was a terrible mess. Looking in the mirror, he didn't recognize the man he saw.

And he thought,  _ I can fix this. I have to fix this. I can't let Link die. I can't kill him with my boat. _

He went to their office. His office, now. He shut his eyes briefly at the sight of Link's empty desk. Heart pounding, he squeezed his hands into fists, open and shut, till he could bear to open his eyes again.

Link still wasn't there.

Breathing raggedly, and tearing up again, Rhett went to his desk.

He pulled open the top drawer, and out a sharpie and a stack of post-it notes. And he wrote,

NO BOAT.

He wrote over and over the dark ink till it stained through several notes below, pressing hard, his breathing jagged and shaky with tears. He outlined the words till he couldn't see anymore, his eyes were too full of tears, continuing to fall.

At some point, he fell asleep.

#

Rhett woke up. He stared at Link. Could hardly believe they'd had last night together. It had been so special, even if it was in Link's and Christie's old bed. They'd had to be quiet, of course, since they didn't want the kids to know.

Would it ever be okay to tell the kids? Rhett wasn't sure. He knew their lives were complicated enough right now.

He got up, trying not to wake Link. Maybe they could spend tonight on the boat, and not have to be so quiet. Well, probably not the night, but maybe a few hours, anyway? 

He got dressed. Nobody needed to find him in here. 

He couldn't help the sappy smile he still wore as he drove into the office. There was work to be done, but maybe he could finish it in time to plan something special.

At his desk, he stopped. Another post-it! Heart pounding in fear, he walked up and looked at it.

NO BOAT, said the note. Rhett snatched it up, studied it front and back, and then stuffed it in his pocket. 

His adrenaline was spiking, and he didn't know why. He felt a shudder pass through him, and let out his breath slowly. He had a strange feeling, like when you've been crying too much to stop and for a very long time, but you're finally able to take a breath.

_ Okay. No boat. _

He'd plan some other way to spend time with Link, tonight and all the other nights they were going to have.

Because Link was his again, and nothing could stop that. Not ever again.

_ the end _


End file.
